For Whom the Bell Tolls
by Spooky-Girl
Summary: That night, Sam Winchester dreamed his brother died...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer : I own nothing but idea and the talent it took to write this. And even that's questionable.

A/N: I don't think this is really all that good... I have writer's block like you wouldn't believe, but this was just eating at me, so I had to get it out. I'll try to make the future chapters a little better. That is, if you think I should continue... puppy eyes Review... p-p-pwease?

_---_

_'What do you fear?'_

_The voice came to him from nowhere, an assault that left him reeling._

_Where had it come from?_

_He spun, eyes searching, but the graveyard was dark and a thick mist clung to the ground._

_Nothing. _

_Of course, it wouldn't be that easy._

_No, he was meant to search._

_He moved forward effortlessly, as if being guided by some unseen force._

_The night was still, silent. Not even a hint of sound from civilization or animal kingdom alike. Picking his way through headstones, his sneakers making no sound in the wet grass, he was kept company only by the sound of his own heavy breathing in his ear._

_'What...'_

_The voice came again, sounding almost thoughtful, and he realized with a shock that it in his head._

_Not his own voice, but a sudden intrusion of someone else's thoughts being pressed upon him._

_'...do you...'_

_The voice finished, the thought clinging to his mind like wisps of smoke curling around his brain._

_He was overcome for a moment, with the desire to clutch his head and scream for whoever, whatever was inside to get OUT._

_His legs propelled him forward, the mindless motion making him wonder if he really was searching, or being pushed forward by this intrusive, bodiless voice._

_Fear gripped at him, but he couldn't stop, something was pushing him in this direction, and like it or not, he was meant to obey._

_'Fear?'_

_This word lingered as the mist parted in front of him, revealing a fresh grave, the dirt crumbled loosely around the base of a thick mass of stone._

_His eyes were drawn slowly up the stone, the words blurry at first, but seeming to clear the higher he read, until it was the only thing he could see, the text chiseled into the granite with an alarming finality._

_**Dean Winchester**_

_**1980 - 2006**_

_---_

Sam awoke with a strangled cry, the scream that caught in his throat choked back as he realized he had been dreaming. He sat up in bed, the sheets falling around his waist, the night air chilling his sweat soaked skin.

Breathing heavily, he turned his attention to the bed next to him, half expecting Dean's body to be sprawled out on blood stained sheets.

He was greeted instead with a half-pissed, half-concerned look from his very much alive brother.

"Dude?" his groggy voice pressed in a tone that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd spoken.

Shaking off the last traces of the graphic dream, he offered a sheepish look.

"Did I wake you?" he asked apologetically

Dean raised an eyebrow. "No, I was up late crocheting. What do you think, Sam?"

"Sorry," he said, flopping back down in bed. "I -"

"Had a nightmare?" Dean supplied. "One that was bad enough to wake me up screaming, which woke up my _brother_ and probably half the entire town?"

Sam blinked.

"It was just a nightmare, Dean," he said, pulling the blankets up. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Dean was still propped up on his elbow, staring at his younger brother. "I didn't say you did. You _did_, but I didn't say that. What'd you dream?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam said, rolling onto his side and tucking the covers under his chin.

"That's old hat, Sam," Dean said. "And I'm just gonna keep pushing at you until you tell me, so you might as well get it over with so we can both get back to sleep."

"No!" he said forcefully. "It's not important."

"Sam," his brother's voice cut across the room.

Tucking the covers under his chin, Sam refused to answer.

"Sam."

He thought about putting the pillow over his face to drown it out.

"Sam!"

Or maybe putting a pillow over _Dean's_ face.

"Sammmmy..."

And pressing down.

"Saammmmmy..."

Hard.

"Sammmmmmyyyy."

"Fine!" Sam shouted, pushing himself upright. "I dreamed you died!"

"See, was that so hard?" Dean said, shooting him a grin he could barely see.

"You are a persistent bastard," he grumbled. "And don't call me Sammy!"

"How did I die?" Dean asked, ignoring his brother's demand.

"What?"

"How did I die," he said slowly, sounding out each word like he was talking to a child.

With a sigh, Sam laid back down. "I don't know. All I saw was your gravestone."

"Hmm," his brother said, not really sounding all that interested.

Sam heard a rustle of sheets as his brother laid back down and fell silent. He stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to fall asleep. He was almost there when Dean's voice brought him back.

"Hey Sam?"

"What?" he mumbled groggily.

"What'd it say, my grave?"

"Your name. 1980 to 2006."

If his brother was at all worried, he didn't show it.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

Again, Dean fell silent, and Sam rolled over, curling up and shutting his eyes.

"Sam."

"Ugh..._what,_ Dean?"

"When I die, make sure my stone says something cool. Like, 'the chicks really dug him', or 'he saved the world a lot'. Okay?" Dean said in a voice that wasn't entirely joking.

"Go to sleep," Sam pleaded.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaiiiimer : I still own a whole lotta nothin'.

A/N: Let me know what you think, eh? I'm still a little unsure of this, but I know where I'm taking it, and I'm pretty sure I'll continue. With the right motivation? Read and review and I'll give you a cookie!

And just for : Was anyone else disappointed by Faith? I had it geared up in my mind to be this amazing episode... and... Not only was Dean's situation too easily dealt with, and over in seconds, but where was the resolution! Come on, seriously... those boys need to talk.

---

Dean Winchester looked remarkably good for a dead man.

He also seemed to have no concern for the fact that his brother, who he fondly claimed had 'the Shining', had predicted this to be his last year on earth. At the moment he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbing his head along to Metallica, which was playing just loud enough for him to hear without waking Sam. His brother had fallen asleep a little over an hour ago, and he was reluctant to wake him up just yet. Poor kid needed all the sleep he could get.

Spotting an exit sign with a faded gas pump etched in white, he pulled off without bothering to use his turn signal.

Spotting what seemed to be the only gas station on a long stretch of road, Dean pulled the Impala off and killed the engine.

Leaning over, he nudged Sam's shoulder none too gently.

His brother's eyes opened halfway, looked up, and groaned.

"Wake up, sunshine," he said with a grin.

Sam followed his brother out of the car, yawning. "How long was I asleep?"

"Hour, give or take," Dean said, inserting the nozzle into the gas tank and narrowing his eyes as he watched the pump.

"Where are we?" he followed up, rolling his shoulders, stretching out the kinks.

Dean blinked for a moment, then looked around.

"You don't know where we are?" Sam asked incredulously.

"We're somewhere between where we were and where we're going," he shot back.

"We don't know where we're going," Sam sighed.

"Then why is it so important to know where we are?" Dean said, straightening and replacing the pump.

"You're impossible," Sam shook his head.

"Oh, admit it, it's endearing," his brother replied as he screwed on the gas cap.

"I'll admit I'm surprised you know a word that big," Sam said sweetly, following his brother to the station.

"Watch it, Sammy," Dean warned, "I might just leave you here."

"If only," he muttered.

"I'm gonna take a piss, give the man his money," Dean said, inclining his head to indicate the man standing at the counter.

"Okay...wait, hey!"

Sam groaned again, wondering how he always fell for that, and reached into his pocket to count his dwindling cash flow.

"Pump one," he said to the man at the counter, still counting out the bills.

"Thirty even," the man replied in a tired voice.

Sam handed him most of the bills in his hand and tucked the rest into his back pocket.

The attendant, an older man with salt and pepper hair and a bushy beard, counted it out and placed it in the register, moving with almost painfully slow motions.

Sam surveyed the candy and gum at the front counter for a moment before choosing a Mars bar. As he waited to receive his change, he took into account the darkening sky. "Would you happen have any nearby motels or anything?"

The man paused in his movement, and Sam wanted to smack himself.

"Well," he said, appearing to think hard. "We've got a motel a few miles up the road, and we've got Miss Betty's bed and breakfast, if that's more of your style. Mighty nice place."

He placed the two quarters in Sam's hand and offered a smile.

"Either way, you take this here road a ways up the line," he said, nodding to himself. "Ain't much around these parts, so you shouldn't have too much trouble."

"Tell that to my brother," Sam mumbled, smiling and thanking the old man.

Dean met him at the door, drying his hands on his jeans.

As they stepped outside, Sam unwrapped his candy bar and took a bite, eliciting a pointed stare from Dean.

"What?"

"Dude," Dean began in a low, warning voice. "There better be one of those for me in your pocket."

Sam swallowed. "So..."

"You suck."

"You want half?" Sam asked half-heartedly.

"No," Dean replied haughtily.

"Are you pouting?" Sam asked in awe.

"I am not pouting," Dean said, spitting the last word out distastefully.

Sam laughed and popped the rest of the chocolate in his mouth with a laugh.

Sliding behind the wheel, Dean smiled briefly. It was good to see his brother acting so light-hearted. Even if it did mean he got no chocolate. Bickering over something so silly - it reminded him of when they were kids, when even impending doom could be brushed aside. When the worst worry in the world was who got the biggest piece of the candy bar their dad split between them.

Sam's hand waving in front of his face brought him back down to earth.

"What?" he asked, shoving the offending appendage out of his way. "Personal space, dude."

"I said, are we stopping for the night?" Sam repeated. "The guy in there told me about a bed and breakfast up the road."

Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Bed and breakfast? Sammy...I don't _do_ 'B&B's'."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I know, it's a far cry from our usual filth, but think about it."

"Sam, no -"

"Home cooked meal, Dean," he prodded. "And they probably have _washing machine._"

That shut his brother up real quick.

"Are you saying I smell?"

Sam tried not to laugh at the offended look on his brother's face.

"All I'm saying is we don't get a lot of chances to stop at a laundromat, Dean. Think about it. I know _my_ clothes could use it."

Dean glared. "This is gonna cost."

"It's a ghost town," Sam said. "How much could they charge? Really."

---

"59.99 a night."

The woman had been sitting in the living room when they showed up, and introduced herself right away as Betty, the owner of this "fine establishment." She was a pleasant looking woman with grey hair and wrinkles that only made her look friendly, like someone's grandmother, and one who was used to laughing.

"I wasn't really expecting anyone," she said as she led the boys up the stairs. "We don't really get a lot of folks through this way unless they plan it. Lucky for you Tuesday's laundry day! I just changed the sheets, so you'll have a nice clean bed to sleep in."

Sam looked back at Dean, who offered an amused grin.

"The bathroom's at the other end of the hall," she said, "And you rooms are here, I'll just put you across from each other."

She swung open the doors to the two rooms at the end of the hall and left the keys in them. "I hope you'll find them to your liking."

The brothers stuck their heads in to survey the rooms, while Betty kept speaking.

"Now, dinner's usually at seven, I hope that's not too late for you, but my Earl doesn't get done until then, and we do like having a nice family dinner," she said with a warm smile.

"Even with strangers sharing the table?" Dean asked with a raised brow, ignoring the elbow Sam shoved his way.

"Oh, yes, even then," Betty said, still smiling. "We enjoy having company, it can get so lonely out here."

"Is there anyone else staying?" Sam asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, no, dear," she said, her smile faltering. "No, we do the occasional weekend getaway, but we usually fill up in the summer, people wanting to go someplace quiet. And in spring, we get quite a few honeymooners. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, actually," Sam said, rubbing his hand over his neck, "We were kinda wondering if we could borrow your washer? We've been road tripping, and...well, we could use it."

"Oh, it's no problem," she replied waving her hand. "Let me get you boys a basket and some detergent. The washer's in the basement, I'll go ahead and take you down there, and if you'd like, you can shower while you wait on those clothes."

Sam immediately unzipped his bag, going through and sorting his dirty clothes, which admittedly was almost the whole bag. Gathering his clothes, he looked into the hall to see Dean staring at him.

"What?"

Self consciously, Dean lifted an arm and sniffed. "Is she saying I stink? Seriously, Sammy..."

---

Two hours, several loads of laundry, and a refreshing shower later, Dean was relaxing on the soft bed in his room, stretched out in clean jeans and a black t-shirt that smelled a little too springtime fresh for his scent. All he needed was to be on a hunt and have some big ugly demon sniff him out because he smelled too much like a little old lady.

He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Free laundry was free laundry.

He wondered if Sam was sleeping, and hope this whole 'family' environment would calm the boy down enough to get a good nights' sleep. He needed that. They'd been running themselves ragged these days, and never knowing what would be next...well, nothing about their lives was easy.

Hell, they could both use a rest.

---


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimin' : If I haven't owned it by now, I'm never gonna. Damn.

A/N: Wow, you guys are so nice to me. blushes Thanks for all the awesome reviews, really, it keeps me going. I don't think I have the characters down as well as I _could_, but I'm trying! I hope you guys will stick with me, I swear, it'll get better. I hope...no, it will.

---

Sam was in heaven. No two ways about it. He was warm, he was dry, he was safe, and there was nothing even remotely supernatural surrounding him.

Staring at the astonishing amount of food in the middle of the table, he spared a glance at his brother, and almost laughed. The elder Winchester was surveying had placed a mound mashed potatoes on his plate, and was now staring at it with a look of extreme concentration, using his spoon to smooth the sides without collapsing the crater he'd created. When he was satisfied, he added a generous amount of gravy, pouring just enough that the brown liquid bubbled up and over the sides of his mashed potato volcano.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food?" Betty said, not unkindly, placing a basket of rolls fresh from the oven on the table.

Sam's eyes flickered back to Dean for a moment, watching his face for a reaction.

"No ma'am," he said plainly, "she encouraged it."

"Leave the boy alone," Earl Davis said, appearing at the doorway, regarding his wife with a smile.

He turned his attention to Sam and Dean, "Betty here likes to mother."

Sam had to smile at the warm way the couple talked about each other. They seemed to be the perfect couple, high school sweethearts married almost fifty years, as Earl had proudly boasted, and still going strong. Earl was a miner, looking remarkably fit for his age, solid and stocky, with a short grey crew cut. He looked the perfect counter part to his wife, the strength to her gentleness, while her kind nature seemed to diminish his intimidating build. He towered over her as he placed a kiss on her forehead, sliding into his place at the head of the table.

"Oh, Earl," Betty said, her kind face lighting up at his presence.

Earl helped himself to a thick slice of meatloaf and passed the serving platter to Sam with a wink. "Help yourself, son, your brother's not shy, and you shouldn't be either. We're pretty relaxed around here."

Dean looked sheepish, and smashed his mashed potato volcano, clearing his throat.

Sam forked a slice of meatloaf onto his plate and offered it to his brother, who hastily added two to his own plate before passing it to Betty, who finally settled into her place at the long table.

"But we do like to say grace," Earl said, noticing Dean pick up his fork.

He quickly put it back down.

"Uh...sorry," Dean apologized, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"No need to apologize," Betty said, folding her hands in front of her.

Dean and Sam followed suit, giving each other a look; they weren't used to this.

"Heavenly father," Earl began, his deep voice rumbling softly, "we thank you for this food, may it nourish us, body and soul. We thank you for these new friends, may you watch over them and keep them safe. We thank you for another day to be together, and we ask that you allow us many more. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the table followed suit.

Betty beamed at her husband, "You always know just what to say, Earl."

"It was really nice," Sam offered up, looking pointedly at his brother.

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding.

Sam shook his head. His brother was certainly not a paragon of eloquence.

"Now," Earl said, grinning. "Dig in, huh?"

The rest of the meal passed quickly, filled with chatter and intermittent bouts of companionable silence. Sam found himself at ease around these people; he had immediately taken a liking to Betty and her husband, they reminded him of someone's friendly grandparents. Not to mention he hadn't been in an atmosphere as casual in...well, he couldn't remember. Which meant it had been a long, long time.

"What made you start a bed and breakfast?" he asked halfway through the meal, curiosity getting the best of him.

Betty and Earl exchanged a glance, and for a moment Sam thought he might have said something wrong.

"It gets a bit lonely out here," Betty said, choosing her words carefully. "What with Earl working so much, and, we'll, it's a small town to say the least, we don't really have much in the way of neighbors. Besides which, we have this huge house and it's just the two of us, it seems a waste to let all the space go to waste."

"People seem to like it," Earl added, taking a sip of his coffee. "Betty and me, we never had kids, so it's nice to get some company around here...and a little supplemental income."

"Oh, Earl, it's not about the money," she scolded.

"Of course not," Earl said, looking offended.

"Do you get much business?" Dean asked. "I mean, no offense or anything, but it's kind of a ... "

"Cow town?" Earl asked with a laugh.

Dean shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"Oh, we know," the miner laughed deeply. "But we've got enough to keep them interested I guess. We actually get a wide range of visitors. Couples looking for weekend getaways where they won't be bothered; we're perfect for that. Hikers, too, we've got quite a few acres here, and we have some nice trails out back. You should check them out, some of the best scenery you'll find. But if you do go, we ask that you respect the trail markers. There's some trails that are dangerous in the winter, the ones down near the river particularly. You don't really have to worry, though, they're very clearly marked."

"Maybe we'll check that out," Sam said, smiling politely.

"Would you boys care for any desert?" Betty asked suddenly, standing. "I've got some fresh pie, if you'd like."

"Sure," Dean said, scooping up the last bit of potatoes on his plate. "I never turn down desert."

Sam looked at his brother, wondering if he'd said something wrong, but his brother just raised his brows and shrugged.

"Sure," Sam agreed.

---

After dinner the boys offered to wash dishes - well, Sam offered, Dean kicked him under the table - but Betty said she'd have none of it, and sent them off with a wave of her hand, setting about her tasks. Earl disappeared into the TV room, and with nothing else to do, the brothers headed upstairs, hanging out in Sam's room. They weren't used to having this much free time on their hands, and when they did, they were usually in a town big enough that they could waste a few hours at a bar, or, more to Sam's liking, a library.

Instead, Sam began rooting through his bag, and Dean laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Dude, I am bored," he sighed, putting his hands behind his head and stretching out.

"Find something to do, then" Sam replied, "I'm gonna get a shower."

"Fine," Dean said, "leave me on my own. Do you know what kind of trouble I could get into here, Sammy? I could be arrested for _cow tipping_ if I'm not careful."

Sam paused in the doorway. "Look, I know you haven't met anyone in a while, but be careful, Dean, you don't know where those cow's have been."

Dean's eyes widened at his little brother's joke, and hurled a pillow at him.

Sam ducked out just in time, the pillow falling to the ground.

Dean grumbled as his brother disappeared, "Watch it, Sam, I might have to wash your mouth out with soap."

There only answer was the bathroom door shutting.

Sighing, he leaned back on the bed.

"I am _bored_!"

---

When Sam returned, his bed was empty, and the door across the hall was shut, so he put away his toiletries and glanced at the clock. It was only ten, but there was nothing else to do, so he climbed under the covers and turned the light off.

Maybe this time he'd get a good night's sleep.

He could hope.

---

Dean shot upright in bed, suddenly awake and not knowing why.

He blinked in the darkness, heart racing, and listening.

He was beginning to think he was imagining things, when it came again, the reason he had woken.

A piercing scream, so loud it hurt his ears.

Where was it coming from?

He threw back the covers and leapt from bed, almost falling as the comforter wrapped around his ankle. He shook it off and opened the door, coming face to face with -

"Sam?"

His brother stood just outside his door, eyes wide, pulled from the first peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.

"Do you hear that?"

"No, Sam, I'm sleepwalking," Dean snapped.

"What is it?" his brother asked, looking down the hall, ignoring the comment.

"I don't know," Dean replied, stepping into the hallway and putting his body in front of Sam's. "Come on, and stay behind me."

Halfway down the hallway, they heard it again, a shriek that sounded pained.

"What the fuck _is_ that?" Dean asked almost to himself, leading Sam down the hall.

As far as they'd been told, the rest of the rooms were empty, aside from Betty and Earl's on the first floor. Still, the proceeded cautiously, opening doors and peering inside as well as they could without the aid of a flashlight. They methodically searched each room, coming back with nothing.

"Can you hear where it's coming from?" Sam asked, standing beside his brother.

"No," Dean said, shoving his brother with his elbow. "And stay _behind_ me."

He led his brother down the stairs as quietly as possible, checkin the kitchen, dining room, and living room, frowning each time they found nothing.

Finally, they reached the back room where the elderly couple were sleeping.

Torn between the need to check and the feeling that peeping at old people was just wrong, Dean sighed.

Saying nothing, he twisted the handle and opened the door, wincing when it creaked slightly. Then poked their heads into the room, and immediately back out when they were satisfied that all was as it should be.

Still trying to be as quiet as possible, they climbed the stairs again, checking each room one last time before meeting up at the end of the hall.

"Okay, so..." Sam said, trailing off when he realized he had nothing to say.

Dean shrugged, looking uncertain. "I dunno."

"We heard it, right?" Sam asked, seeking confirmation. "I mean, that wasn't a dream, right?"

"Since when do we both have weird dreams, Sam? Let alone the same one? We heard...something," Dean said. "I just don't know what."

"It stopped," Sam said needlessly.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking thoughtful.

"So, what do we do?"

"Go back to bed, " Dean shrugged. "Coulda been anything, animal, freaky old people sex..."

He shuddered.

"God," Sam said, "I'd rather it be something creepy...er."

"You and me both," Dean said. "Look, whatever it was, it's quiet now. Try to get some sleep, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, and Dean beat him to it.

"Don't start, Sam, you look like shit. You need the rest," he warned.

"Fine," Sam said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Dean waited until his brother's door was shut before returning to his own bed, pulling the covers back up and laying in bed, listening.

All was quiet. There weren't even the sounds of the house settling, or the wind blowing. It was peaceful.

He had trouble getting back to sleep, his ears listening to the silence, searching for some sign of the noise that had woken him.

Maybe they had just imagined it.

Yeah.

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer : Can I be done with this yet? You all know I don't own a damn thing, right? Right.

A/N: More reviews, moooore! Or...or else... I'll hold back:P I like this chapter a bit more than the others, I'm trying to work on getting the characters a bit more...character like. Anyway, at least there's a plot. :P Read, review, and I'll try to get another chapter up as soon as I get my ransom. I mean, tomorrow?

---

_"Are you afraid of the dark, Dean?"_

_There was a gentle teasing way about his voice that masked an almost subconscious curiosity._

_"Fuck no," his brother replied, looking offended for all of a heartbeat before his face split in a wide grin. "I'm scared of what's waiting for me **in** the dark."_

_Sam smirked and played the beam of his flashlight over the path stretching before them._

_It was rare for his brother to admit to being scared, even if he was joking. It was sort of comforting, knowing his brother was human. Sometimes, he doubted it. Sometimes he was almost convinced his brother was immortal, fearless._

_Walking the woods with flashlights in hand, he could almost pretend they were just regular guys, brothers out camping, or something fun, something mundane._

_He almost felt like whistling, and found a grin playing across his lips._

_"What's wrong with this picture?" Dean said, blinding Sam with his light for a moment. "College boy? Actually enjoying himself?"_

_"So?" Sam shrugged, batting the flashlight away._

_"Leave it to you to enjoy something like this," his brother said, walking backwards, grinning, shining the light back in Sam's face. "What a freak."_

_"Hey, knock it off, Dean," Sam said. "Don't call me that."_

_"It's a joke, Sam," Dean said, his smile faltering. "Calm down."_

_"Just... don't call me that, okay?" Sam said, kicking at the dirt in front of him._

_"Hit a sore spot, sweetheart?" Dean prodded._

_"Lay off, Dean" Sam said, his voice taking on a warning tone._

_"Aw, come on, Sammy," his brother said with a disappointed shake of his head. "Don't get all uppity. We're in this together, right? One big happy family of freaks."_

_"Dammit, Dean," Sam said angrily, "could you just shut up?"_

_And just like that, he was gone._

_Not gone in a poof of smoke, but gone with a wide-eyed look of panic, a windmilling of the arms, and a crash._

_"Dean!"_

_---_

"Sam!"

With a start, Sam awoke, his mouth wide open in a silent scream, one arm reaching forward, the other clutching his blanket in a death grip.

"Sam?"

Dean.

Sam blinked the dream away, and saw his brother standing at the foot of his bed, looking worried and trying not to show it.

"You were dreaming," he said needlessly.

"Yeah," Sam sat up, shaking his head to clear the last traces of the dream away; it clung tightly to his memory.

Dean looked for a moment like he was going to let it go, but asked the dreaded question, "What was it about?"

"It was horrible," Sam started, taking a page from his brother's own book on avoidance. "You were..."

"What?" Dean pressed.

"In a Speedo," Sam gasped, putting his hands over his eyes. "God, it was awful!"

Dean glared.

"Nice, Sam, real nice."

As his brother turned, Sam allowed a grin of triumph.

"Get dressed," Dean said, his back ramrod straight. "Then we'll talk about what you really dreamed."

Sam sighed.

---

Over Betty's simple breakfast of pancakes and orange juice, the brothers exchanged glances, watching the woman putter around in the kitchen, offering them more juice and food.

"I've eaten already," she said from the kitchen as she stacked the dishes piled in the sink.

She brought in a fresh plate of pancakes and set them on the table.

"Every year since Earl's been working, I've gotten up at four to have his breakfast on the table," she continued, dusting crumbs off the table with her dishrag.

At Dean's horrified glance, Betty laughed heartily. "Oh, I don't mind. We like to spend as much time as possible together. We're the only family we've got. Family's important, but I guess you already know that."

The remark was casual, but Sam felt his chest get tight.

"I understand that," Dean said, taking a long drink before he went on, "It must get pretty lonely out here when you don't have guests."

Sam shot him a look.

Betty nodded thoughtfully. "Well, we have our friends, Earl and I, but these days no one can seem to be bothered to make the trip between our properties. Of course, you'll understand that when you're older."

"Do you ever get scared?" Dean continued, his tone casual, but the question all business.

"Scared?" she asked, not understanding.

"Well, yeah," he said, "I mean, with all these woods around. Sam and I heard some weird noises last night, we thought it must be coyotes or something."

The elderly woman paused for a moment, thinking. "Coyotes? I don't really know about that...I know there's small game, deer, of course, but I think we're too close to the highway for much else. What sort of noises?"

"Oh, just...you know, we're not used to the country," Sam interjected. "Dean's afraid of bears, so he's always extra cautious."

Dean shot Sam another glare, clearly not appreciating Sam's cover story.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that," Betty laughed. "We haven't had a scare like that in years."

"I feel so much better," Dean said sarcastically.

"Well, I have plenty of housework to do," Betty said, heading back to the kitchen. "Will you boys be heading out tonight?"

"Actually," Sam said, before Dean could speak, "if you have the room, we'd like to stay another night."

"Of course we have the room," Betty replied cheerfully. "In the meantime, I hope you'll find something to amuse yourselves."

"We might check out those trails," Dean said, his gaze fixed on Sam.

The younger brother had a feeling Dean's interest in the trails was the convenient disposal of his brother's body.

"Watch those trail markers," was all she said before turning the faucet on again.

---

Dean pulled his jacket tighter around his body and resisted the urge to strangle his brother.

"Sixty bucks a night, Sam," was all he said as he set the pace on the trail.

"I know, but -" Sam started.

"But nothing," Dean cut him off. "Sixty bucks! Do I _look_ like I want to spend more money we don't have sleeping on floral print?"

"Dean, they're nice people!" Sam argued.

"So?"

"Well, so... what about that noise last night? We can't just leave not knowing what it was," Sam said, jogging to catch up with his brother.

"Yeah, Sam, we can," came the reply.

"What if it was a ghost?" Sam pointed out. "What if it was supernatural?"

"What if it wasn't?" his brother countered angrily.

"But what if it was?" Sam tried again, almost whining and feeling foolish of that fact.

"But Sam," Dean repeated sternly, turning around. "What if it wasn't?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I just...I hate the thought of leaving them if there's the chance that they're in danger."

"You can't help everyone, Sam," Dean shrugged.

"Why not?" Sam asked. "You try."

"Try," Dean stressed. "Shit happens, Sammy. Sometimes there's nothing you can do. Period."

"Well, in this case, there is something I can do," Sam said, staring his brother in the eye. "I'm not leaving until I find out what it was."

Dean held his gaze, never wavering, for what seemed like hours.

Finally, he shook his head, and spat in a tone of disgust and what could have been pride. "Someone grew a pair."

Sam stood there while his brother began walking again, wondering if he'd just been complimented. Finally, he started walking again, too.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up.

"Any ideas?"

"Ghosties, ghoulies, things that go bump in the night," Dean shrugged. "There's a million things it could be and probably a million more I have no idea about."

"Well, okay, so..." Sam started, but faltered.

Dean spoke suddenly, "That noise..."

"What about it?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

Sam grabbed his shoulder. "What?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow and removed his brother's hand. "Don't tamper with the goods."

"Come on, Dean."

He sighed, furrowing his brow. "That's just it. I don't know. I've never heard anything like it before."

"Me either," Sam agreed, frowning.

"But, it's almost like there's something familiar about it..." Dean trailed off, looking into the horizon.

Sam waited for his brother to work out whatever he was thinking.

A few times Dean opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly.

"You look like a fish," Sam commented after the fifth false start.

"Shut up," Dean said, distracted.

Sam complied.

"I remember reading something somewhere," Dean said.

"Shock," Sam coughed into his hand.

"Shut up, asshole," Dean glowered. "Okay, so maybe I heard it. Whatever."

"Go on," Sam urged.

"You gonna shut up?" Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Sam made a motion, dragging his thumb and forefinger across his lips and throwing away the "key".

"I'm not saying it is, I'm just saying it could be," Dean warned from the start. "But that scream... it reminded me of a banshee."

"Banshee?" Sam said, trying to remember that particular foe.

"Yeah, Irish legend. Uh, banshees foresee death..." Dean said thoughtfully.

"Death?" Sam frowned. "Earl and Betty are gonna...?"

"I don't know," Dean said truthfully. "I've heard it a couple ways. Some legends say the banshee shows up to tell of a death of a loved one far away. A death that's already happened. Some say they show up to predict the death in the near future. Betty said they don't have family nearby, so..."

"So it's not looking good for them," Sam surmised.

"That's if, _if_ it's a banshee," Dean said. "It could be something else. It coulda been a damn dog."

"It wasn't a dog," Sam said, certain of that.

Dean sighed. "We'll stay one more night. But, Sam, if it is...I'm not sure there's anything we can do."

"What?" Sam looked taken aback. Dean always had an answer, always had a plan to save the day.

"Well, banshees don't kill, they don't hurt...they're just a, uh...what do call it? A manifestation?" Dean searched his vocabulary, getting frustrated. "Ah, screw it. The point is, they predict the future. They don't cause it."

Sam frowned yet again. "So, you're saying..."

Dean blinked.

"Like I said, Sammy...shit happens."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer : Don't own 'em.

A/N: Not so happy with this chapter, but it's getting there. I'm already working on the next, I was delayed last night with the football game. ;) My boys won. End jock moment. Seriously, though, stick with me, I hope you can at least semi-enjoy this chapter. Review and I'll grant you three wishes!

---

For the first time, Sam found himself hoping for a demon, a pissed off spirit that they could deal with easily, something they knew. Salt and burn the bones, and poof, no more problem. Instead, they were faced with the possibility that this was a being they'd never encountered, a being that couldn't be fought.

"What do you know?" he sighed.

"Not a lot," Dean admitted. "I mean, banshees aren't that common. Or, if they are, no one's talking. I don't even think Dad's journal has anything on them."

"Great," Sam muttered.

"A banshee is...a spirit," Dean said, looking into the air as if trying to read from a memory. "That shows up in the form of a woman to warn people of a death. The cry of the banshee was described as being so piercing it could shatter glass. Unearthly. I guess she's not too picky on who can hear her, but apparently if the spirit actually manifests itself to you, if you _see_ her, it's _your_ death she was foretelling."

"That's something, at least," Sam said.

"Yeah, but it still gives us nothing to go on," Dean said, running a hand through his hair. "We can't stop something we can't fight."

"But, that doesn't mean we can't fight the danger, right?" Sam pointed out. "I mean, we can try to stop whatever's going to -"

"No," Dean interrupted. "Think about it, Sam. They're nice people but they're ancient. How are we gonna stop a heart attack, a stroke? What if it's a cave-in, or a car accident?"

Sam sighed dejectedly.

"Look," Dean said. "We'll do what we can. That's all we _can_ do. No promises."

Sam nodded, angry at their inability to do much of anything.

"Besides," Dean continued as they walked. "They've had a good life. Maybe it's just...their time."

"Then why would this spirit be warning them? Or us? Why here, now, if we can't do anything about it?"

Dean shrugged; it was a good point.

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out."

---

Overhead, a winter sun took it's place high in the sky, grey clouds all but obscuring it from view.

The brothers had been walking in a rare, but comfortable silence for over a half hour when Dean spoke up, pointing to his right.

"There's one of those markers they kept talking about."

Nailed to a tree was a worn sign, warning : **Danger, trail closed ahead.**

Curiosity piqued, Dean peered down the trail.

"Doesn't look dangerous," he remarked.

Sam joined him, looking down the winding path. "No, but they wouldn't lie."

"I wonder why, though," Dean said, craning his neck.

"Who cares?" Sam shrugged. "We have more important things to worry about, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Then, suddenly, "I'm gonna go see."

Sam sighed. His brother was like a dog without a bone. Once he was curious about something, he would pick away at it until he was satisfied.

"Dean, it's dangerous. They wouldn't have big signs posted if it wasn't," Sam said, pointing for emphasis.

"I know," Dean replied, "but I want to see _why._"

His dream suddenly flashing to mind, Sam threw his hands up in frustration. Trust his brother to _look_ for trouble.

"Relax, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head and laughing. "I'm just gonna walk down to that bend, if I don't see anything, we can turn around. I just wanna see what's so scary about a stupid trail. It looks exactly the same as the others."

"They said something about a river, I think," Sam said, hoping that would be answer enough.

"Okay," Dean said. "So if I see a river doing naughty things, there's my explanation."

Sam sighed again, watching his brother take off down the trail, strolling like his half-psychic little brother hadn't just told him he dreamed of his death two nights ago.

"Wait up," Sam said in defeat, heading after his brother.

Ahead, Dean grinned.

Now that he'd brought the dream to mind, it wouldn't leave him alone.

"Dean," Sam said, trying one more time, "you know, just because you can't see something dangerous, doesn't mean it's not there."

"Come on, Sammy!" his brother called, ignoring him.

Sam shook his head, kicking at a rock in the middle of the trail. "I'm coming."

When they reached the bend and saw nothing but more trail spread out in front of them, Dean frowned, and kept walking. Rather than call his brother on his word of turning back, Sam followed, knowing it was useless. Until Dean found something dangerous, or proved that there was nothing there, he would keep going.

"Did it ever occur to you that you're asking for trouble?" Sam asked as his brother lead the way down the trail.

"If I didn't look, it'd find me anyway," Dean shrugged.

Sam frowned. The sad part was, it was true. Trouble had a way of finding them. At least when they found it, they had some element of control.

"Hey Dean?"

Turning back at the tentative sound of his brother's voice, Dean answered, "Yeah."

"Do you ever miss...you know, being normal?"

"Normal?" Dean asked with a sneer. "This _is_ normal, Sam. For us, this is normal."

"You know what I mean," Sam shot back. "Do you ever think what it'd be like without all this? If we weren't...freaks?"

Dean's eyes narrowed at the word.

"This is all I've ever known Sam, damn near all I can remember," he said softly. "It's what I do, what I'm good at. I don't think I would know how to live any other life."

Sam bit his lip, surprised at the candor with which Dean spoke.

"It'd be nice if we could be a happy little family, Sam, but we can't. Mom's dead, Dad's gone, and you and me, we're all we've got. No matter how 'weird' we are, this our life, and there's no changing it," Dean said, his voice still low, but his words strong. "No matter how much you wish you could."

"I didn't say I wish I could," Sam said, looking at the ground.

Dean laughed dryly. "You didn't have to."

"It's nothing against you, or Dad," Sam said, desperately needing to prove that to his brother. "It's just -"

"Don't," Dean said simply. "We've got more important things to worry about."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean."

Just when he felt they were actually able to open up to each other, his brother came had to shut down again. Just like always.

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Dean said, giving him a placating smile.

"Dean- " Sam tried again.

Dean only shook his head and turned around, taking a long stride, and giving a shout of surprise.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, springing forward as he saw his brother disappear from view.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_, he cursed himself as he ran the few feet between where he stood and where his brother had a moment before.

Skidding to a stop, he realized the problem. Dean hadn't been paying attention, hadn't seen the steep drop off in front of him because he was facing the wrong direction. When he'd spun around, he'd put his foot down on nothing but air, and fallen.

"Awww, fuck!"

Sam looked down at the sound of his brother's voice, eyeing the path on the sharp incline his brother's body had made in the mud.

He was about to laugh, when Dean's voice rose up to him again.

"Sammy..."

Sam blinked at the slight hitch in his brother's voice.

And soon, he knew why.

Standing shakily, covered in mud from head to toe, Dean was surrounded by graves.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: No disclaimer. We all know I don't own anything related to Supernatural. Just this wonderful fic:P I'll now grant three wishes to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter. poof Okay, okay, I know, it's a bit short, but the next one will be a lot longer, if I have any say in it. Reviiiiew!

---

Dean stood on shaky legs. He was sore, covered in mud, cold, and surrounded by death.

Graves.

What seemed like hundreds, but was probably only dozens, of graves surrounded him. Some in the form of ancient Irish crosses, some small granite stones, but most crude wooden crosses, two pieces of wood nailed together and stuck into the soft ground.

Wiping his hands on his knees, which only served to spread the mud around both his hands and his jeans, he surveyed the ravine he'd stumbled upon. It appeared to be about ten or fifteen yards across, and stretching even longer.

Dean wouldn't admit it, but the graveyard creeped him out.

"Are you okay?" Sam called down to him.

"Yeah," Dean answered, taking a moment to give himself a once over. He would have some bruises in the morning, and he could tell his knees and the balls of his hands were skinned beneath the mud, but he'd live.

He turned around and looked at his brother, a good fifteen feet up the side of the ravine. "Please tell me this is a graveyard for hamsters."

"Check the stones," Sam said, looking sick to his stomach.

"Aw, man," Dean grumbled. Things just had to get more complicated, didn't they?

Cursing under his breathe, he headed for the nearest stone, crouching down. He frowned and got up, moving to another stone, then another, inspecting several with intense concentration.

"What?" Sam asked, watching his brother move from marker to marker.

"There's no names," Dean called back up to him. "Just dates."

He could understand the wooden crosses not having names, but it seemed odd that the granite stones or elaborate crosses would not have a family name, let alone a personal touch. In fact, the amount of grave markers in that area was a bit alarming.

He was getting creeped out.

Suppressing a shudder, Dean turned his back on the graves, a shiver crawling up his spine.

Reaching the hill, he took a few tentative steps up the muddy face. His boots slipped in the wet mud, sliding him back to the bottom with a curse.

"Dammit!" he cried, wanting out of there, and wanting out now.

He looked up and saw Sam standing at the lip of the ravine, looking down, ready to assist his brother once he was within range.

With a growl of frustration, he took a few steps back and tried a running start, feeling his boots sink into the mud as he tried to run up the hill.

A laugh told him Sam was enjoying this, but right now all he cared about was getting away from those graves.

On his third attempt, his feet went out from under him, pitching him face first into the mud, and eliciting another laugh from Sam.

Any other time, he'd be glad to hear his brother enjoying himself, getting a sense of humor. Now was not a good moment.

"Fuck," he said, taking a moment to catch his breath and looking at the incline. It was steep, but not impossible. The mud was the problem.

For a brief moment, he was overcome with a feeling of panic. What if he couldn't get out? What if he was trapped down here with these graves until the ground dried out?

Dean had always hated cemeteries. Not for the dead bodies and the ghosts and the things people usually attributed fear of graveyards with. It was the graves themselves. It seemed unfair that people died and got stuck in the ground, six feet under the dirt. It seemed wrong that people so warm in life got nothing but cold granite or marble to remember them by. Of course, the dead didn't need warmth, but how could the living be comforted by something so cold and impersonal?

Suddenly unsettled by the thought of dozens of bodies decaying in the ground beneath him, all cold, and bones and rotting flesh, Dean launched himself at the side of the ravine, his fingers digging in the mud to grasp at roots and rock, anything to help him claw his way to the top.

One he was within reach, Sam grabbed his arm and hauled him to the top, Dean knocking into his legs, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Dean rested, his eyes fixated on the span of crosses and stones below.

"Sick," he muttered thickly.

Sam glanced at him for a moment, then back down. "Sick and weird. Really weird."

"Why were there no names?" Dean said, more to himself than to his brother.

Sam stood and reached a hand down to help his brother up.

Dean brushed him off and stood up on his own, making a half hearted attempt to dust himself off.

"God, that was creepy," he said out loud.

Sam stared at him for a moment.

"What the fuck?" he continued. "I mean, seriously. If that was a family graveyard, they'd have names. Hell, if it was a pet graveyard, they'd have Sparky scratched into them."

"I wonder if they even know this is here," Sam said, looking concerned as he spoke of Earl and Betty. "No one ever comes on these trails, right? How could they?

"I don't know," Dean said with a shake of his head. "Let's ask. "Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Davis, did you know you have a bunch of dead bodies in the woods behind your house?"

"We should get back," Sam said. "You need a shower, and I need to be not looking at this right now."

"That makes two of us," Dean muttered, turning away.

"Looks like you found your trouble, Dean," Sam said as his brother started to walk back.

He was met with a one finger salute.

---

They walked back to the bed and breakfast in silence, each reeling from their discovery, each thinking all the possibilities, but not wanting to bring them up. Later, they'd talk, do the sleuthing thing, but right now there was too much to deal with, and neither of them were particularly eager to do so.

Betty met them at the door with a look that was a mix of shock and concern.

"He fell," Sam explained.

Dean tried for a smile. "City boy."

Betty ushered them in, clucking her tongue. "Oh my. Well, get upstairs and get in the shower, bring these clothes down and I'll wash them before that mud sets in. Oh, I just knew those trails should be shut down. They're so dangerous!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

"Dangerous?"

Betty nodded, wringing her hands. "So many people have gotten hurt, or lost, but what can we do if they want to explore? Even if it we could stop them, they'd just do it somewhere else, or without us knowing. At least we can keep track of who goes where and when."

"You've had trouble before?" Dean asked sharply.

Betty nodded. "A few people have gotten lost, but the police around here have a good search and rescue team. Some people have tripped and broken their legs, all minor stuff but still, it worries me. Earl says I was born to be a mother, but you know..."

Her smile was sad.

"Anyway, there's so much space here, it's like our own state park," she laughed. "I suppose it's bound to happen sooner or later. Earl always says you can't stop things like that from happening, so I try not to let it upset me."

Dean just nodded, his face tense.

"Oh dear, look at me, rambling on, and I haven't even asked if you were hurt!" Betty cried suddenly, looking upset.

"I'm fine," he assured guardedly. "I think I'll get that shower now."

She nodded, still wringing her hands.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, motioning towards the stairs.

Excusing himself with a smile, Sam followed his brother up the stairs, trying to ignore Betty's eyes on his back.

Dean obviously didn't intend to trust her any more than a common criminal. Which made it harder for Sam to admit he still did. Betty was a nice woman, a good person.

How was he going to tell her there was a graveyard in her quaint forest?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yeah, so done with that discalimer. I'm getting really into this, haha. I hope you guys are still with me. In fact, if I don't get 30 reviews by tomorrow, I'll just stop writing!

Not really... I think I'd actually keel over if that happened. ANd I promise not to hold the story hostage. Just let me know if you're still enjoying it, and let me know even more if you aren't!

---

"What do we do?" Sam asked, watching his brother pace.

"I don't know," Dean admitted, running a hand through his still wet hair.

After his shower, Dean had retrieved his clean clothes and immediately they locked himself in his room, trying to figure out what was going on, and what their next step would be.

Dean was torn between his desire to figure out just what the hell was happening, and his desire to say screw it, pack up, and go. In the end, he knew he wouldn't run. He wasn't that kind of person, even if there didn't seem to be an answer, he'd be in it till the end trying to find one.

Even Sam, the brains of the duo, had no ideas. A banshee screaming, the discovery of a backyard cemetery their hostess may or may not know about...it was a whole lot of somethings leading nowhere.

"Let's look at our options," Sam said.

"What options?" Dean snorted, still pacing at the door, a damp towel around his neck. "We can't ask them about what we found."

"Well, we _could_," Sam tried tentatively.

"Yeah, right," Dean said, stopping to look at him. "Have you guys noticed the mass graves in your back yard? Happen to kill anyone recently?"

Sam frowned. "Okay, you have a point."

"Fine, I have a point. Now, do you have any ideas, college boy?" Dean asked, resuming his pacing.

Sam thought for a moment, but came up with nothing.

"If we don't find anything tonight," he said a moment later. "Are we still going to leave?"

Dean sighed. "I don't see how we can. I don't know how we could walk away with that on our shoulders. We need more information."

Sam looked forlornly to the . "Something tells me these guys don't have an internet connection."

"So how do we find out what we need to know?" Dean mused.

"Library!" Sam said suddenly, the idea dawning on him. "If they don't have a computer there, at least they'll have records. We need to find out if that's a registered cemetery before we go off half-cocked."

Dan raised a brow. "I never go anywhere half-cocked."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just get the car keys."

"Music to my ears."

---

The town library was a tiny building a few miles down the road from the Davis Bed and Breakfast. The one story spread was long and narrow, holding dozens of shelves stuffed with dusty books. It was the kind of place that didn't seem like they would have any books from the past decade, but as Sam hoped, there was a small computer station in the middle of the shelves. Two newer model computers were places back to back, powered up and set to the library's homepage.

"Score," Dean remarked as Sam slid into one chair.

His brother went immediately to Google as Dean dragged a chair up to the computer, eliciting a cough and a glare from the librarian, an elderly lady with a scowl permanently affixed to her face. She glared at him over her large square glasses, and Dean gave her a cheerful wave before he settled into the chair, watching his brother work.

"I figure we can try this first, and if we don't find anything, we can look for local history and stuff," Sam said as his fingers danced across the keys.

"What are you lookin' for?" his brother asked, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

"Cemeteries?" Sam asked, looking thoughtful. "I dunno, really. I'm just hoping I get lucky."

He scrolled down the first page, clicking on this and that, and Dean found himself quickly growing bored.

"Let me know if you have any luck," Dean said, pushing back his chair.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna do my own research," Dean replied evenly.

Sam watched him go. "Whatever."

Dean walked up to the librarian, who watching him approach cautiously.

"Can I help you?" she asked guardedly.

Dean leaned against the counter, putting on his best smile. "Yeah, I had a question I was hoping you could answer. You look like you'd know about everything going on here."

A small compliment, but it got her to stand up straighter and adjust her glasses.

"Well, yes."

"Good. I have a bit of a problem." Dean jerked his thumb to indicate Sam at the computer. "My kid brother and were taking a road trip, and, well, our family dog, he was real old. We had the vet take a look at him, but there was nothing he could do. He's been with us forever, we don't really want to cremate him...I know it's a small town, but you guys wouldn't happen to have a pet cemetery, would you?"

The woman frowned slightly, "Oh, no, no, we don't. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Dean said, shrugging. "It was a long shot, I just wanted to make sure. Thanks anyway."

The woman nodded and went back to her tasks at the desk, and Dean walked away, crossing that off his mental list. Unless the Davis's, or whoever had made those crosses, had bad luck with pets, and lots of it, there was something more sinister about that graveyard.

He walked back to the shelves of books, trailing his fingers along the spines. Going off Sam's tip, he looked for a section on local stuff.

There was a small section towards the back about the town's history, but the few books there offered nothing. He skimmed through a few just to be sure, but even if he knew what he was looking for, his gut told him he wasn't going to find it here.

Wandering back over to the computers, he saw Sam completely engrossed in the contents of the screen.

"What've you got?" he asked, reclaiming his spot.

"Nothing, at first," Sam said. "There's three cemeteries here, all small, but all located within the town itself. Nothing about any in the woods."

"It ain't for Fluffy, either," Dean said. "I checked. No pet cemeteries."

Sam nodded. "I tried looking for anything involving woods and graves. Nothing. So then I tried searching for missing persons or murders, but nothing. This town's record is spotless. Nothing's gone on here, at least, nothing that's been reported."

"Another dead end," Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"I looked up banshees, too," Sam said. "More of the same old thing."

Dean slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. "Dammit, Sam. We can't catch a break here."

Sam closed the browser and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know where to go from here, Dean."

H knew the look on his brother's face matched his own, frustration and anger at being so helpless.

"We'll figure this out. We will."

He laced his voice with confidence, but deep down, he was starting to question it.

What were they going to do?


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I tried to have this up quicker, but I was met with writer's block like you wouldn't believe. Eesh, gotta hate that! My muse returned toward the end, though, so I'm happy enough with this chapter to post it. Let me know wha you think! Remember, reviews can be traded at the door for shiny, sparkly objects.

---

When they left the library, a light snow was beginning to fall, the soft white blanket beginning to cover the tops of the houses and streets, making the small town look soft and innocent. The sky was painted oranges and pinks, colors creeping up on the horizon. Darkness would soon replace the sun.

The drive back to the bed and breakfast was silent, the brother's too engrossed in their own thoughts to voice them. The mood in the car was as dark as the sky, somber.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they pulled into the driveway and he put the car in park.

"What?" Sam asked, when he didn't move.

"Nothing," Dean sighed, putting his keys in his pocket. "Let's go."

Sam didn't miss the hesitation in his brother's voice, but he said nothing, following his brother out of the car and up the front porch.

At the door, Sam stopped his brother as he reached for the knob..

"Dean?"

"Yeah," he replied, shivering in the cold wind.

"We're gonna figure this one out."

It wasn't a question, but not quite a statement. It was almost as if his brother was seeking assurance or comfort.

"Yeah. We are," Dean said, his voice strong.

He pushed open the door and led his little brother inside.

---

Dinner was on the table when they arrived, still a welcome change from the usual greasy diner food they found themselves seeking most nights. The house was warm and welcoming, the scent of garlic wafting pleasantly from the kitchen.

Sam and Dean kicked off their shoes by the door and trudged into the dining room, where Betty was placing a basket of bread on the table.

Greeting them with a smile, she announced, "Hope you like spaghetti, boys!"

Sam returned her smile, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Would you like some help?" he offered.

"Oh, no," she said, waving him off. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Sliding into the seat across the table from his brother, he watched her bustle from the kitchen to the table, bringing a bowl of sauce and another of thin linguine.

"Where's Earl?" Dean asked, indicating the empt place at the end of the table with his head.

"He got caught up at work," Betty said, dishing out noodles onto two plates. "He'll be an hour or two, if the snow doesn't get worse."

"It's getting bad out there," Dean remarked, without thinking.

Could this be the reason for the banshee?

Sam kicked him under the table.

"Uh, but I'm sure he'll be fine," Dean amended hurriedly. "Of course."

Betty chuckled. "Don't worry about upsetting me. We're used to these winters. If it gets too bad Earl will stay with one of his friends who live near the mines."

"Well, who wants to say grace?" she asked after finally serving herself.

Dean looked stricken.

"We're not really...much for grace," Sam said, embarrassed and not knowing why. "Maybe you should."

Betty nodded, and bent her head, saying a quick prayer, blessing food and friends and asking for Earl's safe return.

"Dig in!" she announced when she was finished.

"It's really good," Sam said after his first forkful.

"Thank you," Betty glowed. "I just love getting complimented on my cooking. It's what I do best, if you don't mind me patting myself on the back.

Sam couldn't help but smile.

Through dinner, they kept up a steady line of conversation, but Sam suspected it was more to take Betty's mind off her absent husband than anything else. It didn't go unnoticed the way her eyes flitted to the window every few minutes, checking the state of the falling snow, a few inches accumulated already.

"I'm going to call and check in on Earl," Betty said finally, unable to keep her eyes off the fat flakes of snow falling. "Would you boys like anything else?"

"No thanks," Dean said. "I'm tired, I think I'll turn in early."

Sam nodded in agreement, and stood up to carry his plate into the kitchen.

"Oh, leave it," she told him, batting his hands away. "I'll get it."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It's no problem."

"I insist," she smiled.

Sam nodded, and followed Dean out of the room and up the stairs.

"What do you think?" he asked when they were upstairs, safely out of range.

Dean shook his head noncommittally. "This could be it. Or it could be something else. Either way, I don't see how there's anything we can do."

Sam nodded, accepting that, but not liking it one bit. "Still..."

Dean shrugged and repeated, "Nothing we can do, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected.

"Sam," Dean dragged out pointedly.

"So...what _do_ we do?" Sam asked, rubbing his face with his hand and blinking tiredly.

"I don't know," Dean replied wearily. "Sit back and wait, I guess."

Sam knew how much his brother hated inaction, and in this instance, he hated it just as much. There had to be something they could do. Anything but just waiting.

"God, this is..." Dean trailed off.

"Frustrating?" Sam supplied.

"That, too," Dean said with a yawn. "Boring. Frustrating, lame...you get the picture."

"I'm getting you a thesaurus for Christmas," Sam said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean replied. "I'm gonna hit the sack. Wake me up if anything happens?"

Sam nodded with a frown. "Yeah, sure."

He watched Dean disappear into his room and then headed into his own, shutting the door firmly behind him and looking around the room for a minute, unsure of what to do now.

It couldn't hurt to take Dean's lead and get some rest in case anything happened tonight. And the bed looked so, so inviting.

By the time he laid down, it was too late. The last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was, _'Something's wrong...'_

---

Dean came crashing back to consciousness, something not dragging him, but jerking him sharply back from the black.

His eyes shot open, and his heart shot into his throat when he saw the woman hovering over his bed, her face only inches from his own. It took him a moment to process the fact that he could see the ceiling through her, and the minute he realized that, the ghostly woman opened her mouth -

- and _screamed._

It was an earth shattering shriek that seemed to reverberate through his bones.

_Oh, fuck._

Adrenaline flooding his veins, he rolled off the bed, tucking his body and landing hard on the wooden floor, rolling over once and coming up on his knees.

The phantom shot up as well, her long body encased in a flowing white robe that billowed around her as if an unseen wind tore at the fabric. Her long hair was blonde, almost white, and blowing around her face in a way that made it impossible to see her face in great detail. Only her eyes, a pale silver, were visible, staring mournfully at him as she opened her mouth and let out that piercing scream.

Dean leapt to his feet, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled into the fall, nearly falling completely as he made for the door.

At his back the banshee cried on, the wail went on without wavering, no need for breath interrupting the screeching intensity.

Legs feeling like they were made of rubber, Dean all but fell into the hallway.

"Sammy," he croaked, arms out in front of him, reaching for the door.

The open door.

A noise at the end of the hallway caught his attention, and he spun, vision swimming.

Figures, shadows dancing on the wall, too blurred to make out.

He fell.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: passes out sparkly objects to everyone who reviewed So, I'm pretty happy with the way this is coming. I'm happy that I got a kick arse model of a '67 Impala, which was my dream car before the show, and I WILL own one day, amongst others. I'm painting it black, just so you know. ;) And since my DVD recorded erased my ENTIRE tape of Supernatural? I'm sad. And I'm betting Sam and Dean aren't gonna benefit from this. Review! ;)

---

Consciousness came to him slowly, an intermittent recovery of senses that began with hearing.

He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, the soft sounds of his own breathing, and a steady dripping noise that he swore would drive him insane if he had to listen to it much longer. Scent came next, offering him a musty odor and nothing more.

From what he could feel from his slumped over position, something hard behind his back. Slowly, he tensed himself, sitting upright, feeling the aches in his body letting themselves been known. His entire body was sore and lethargic, his eyes fighting him as he strove to open them. He settled for keeping them closed and letting his senses wake up first.

Arms, legs, everything intact and aching, but movement limited.

Further exploration revealed he was able to move his arms and legs, but the biting pain around his wrists and ankles told him he was tied up tight, his arms pulled awkwardly behind him.

The last thing he remembered was hitting the bed far too fast, all his wits slipping away as the black seeped in.

He had been drugged.

Sam opened his eyes, his heartbeat suddenly picking up as he told himself not to panic.

His eyes searched wildly, recognizing bare rock walls and a soft dirt floor. A furnace to his right and a washer and dryer set on cinder blocks and plywood in the corner.

The basement.

_Shit, shit, shit..._

It didn't take him long to figure out he was tied to one of the wooden supports that dotted the unfinished basement.

Great, now all he needed to do was figure out why.

A groan from his right caught his attention and he twisted his head to see his brother, bound too at the ankles and wrists by dirty lengths of rope. He was unconscious still, tied to a pillar about ten feet from his brother, chin tucked into his chest, bleeding from his mouth.

"Dean!" he cried, but all that came out was a hoarse cry.

He hadn't known he was thirsty until then.

Swallowing, he tried again. "Dean!"

A little louder, it was enough to provoke another groan.

"Dean," he called again, keeping his voice low, which wasn't that difficult.

A mumble.

"Dammit," Sam turned his head, eyes on the wooden staircase that led to the first floor.

There were a few bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling here and there to give light, and Sam swiveled his body as much as he could, making sure they were alone. Comforted only slightly by that fact, he returned his gaze to his brother.

"Dean," he hissed. "Come on, wake up!"

"Five more minutes," his brother rasped.

Sam laughed even though it wasn't funny, grateful his brother was alive and feeling good enough to joke.

Dean's head raised an inch, then ducked back down.

"Wh-...fuck," he swallowed hard, eyes still closed tightly. "What happened?"

Sam hesitated, watching his brother meet resistance as he tried to move, knowing he would be assessing the situation even as groggy as he was.

"I don't know," Sam whispered.

"Drugged," Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I guess -"

"She woke me up," Dean interrupted, his voice gaining a bit of strength.

"What? Betty?" Sam jumped on the new information.

"The banshee," Dean said, head still hanging limply. "I saw her."

Sam bit back a curse. That meant...

"I was in the hallway," Dean continued slowly. "I saw...something. I fell. I couldn't stay awake. If I had been able to fight it..."

"Dean," Sam stopped him. "There's plenty of time to blame yourself when we get out of here."

"Plenty of time for you to tell me not to," Dean said, almost smiling.

He brought up his head and opened his eyes, wincing against the light.

"Polite kidnappers," he mumbled. "They didn't leave us in the dark."

"Do you think it was them?" Sam asked softly, trying not to let his disappointment show.

A thud at the top of the stairs caught their attention.

"Looks like them Duke boys are in trouble," Dean intoned.

Sam didn't bother looking at his brother.

"Guess we'll find out," he whispered, watching the boots as they appeared and began their descent, giving way to -

"Earl," Dean greeted dryly.

"I see you're awake," the miner said pleasantly.

"Let us go," Sam said, watching him approach.

"Tsk," Earl clucked. "I know you don't think that's actually going to work."

Sam didn't know which was more terrifying, the old man standing in front of them as they were tied in his basement, or the fact that a day ago, this man was a friendly father-figure type who he'd immediately taken a liking to.

"Fuck. You."

The words had come from Dean, his voice sounding strong and venomous.

Earl's eyes went cold.

"Not quite," he said, walking in between the two brothers and disappearing behind them

Sam caught his brother's eye, seeing the anger there, and knowing his own reflected fear.

Behind them, there was a metallic clanging that made him jump.

Unnerved at the inability to see what Earl was up to, Sam found himself pulling at the rope, straining his shoulders, but knowing it wouldn't give.

Trying to ignore the noise behind them, Sam caught Dean's eye again, searching for any sign that his brother might have to give. He was trusting him to communicate somehow what he planned to do.

---

Dean had nothing.

The moment his brother's eyes met his, he knew he was looking for guidance.

He had nothing, dammit, nothing.

No ideas, no plans, no clue what that damn banging was behind them.

He was piecing it together in his mind, fitting the puzzle together.

It was a perfect cover, really.

Who would suspect an elderly couple, especially the friendliest goddamn couple on the world, a sickly sweet couple with kind eyes and warm smiles, to be into something so sadistic.

He still had no idea what that something was, but he had a general idea.

It was clever, really. A bed and breakfast, so quiet and quaint, attracting couples who wanted to get away for some peace and quiet. And get away they would.

Once there, taken by Earl and Betty's act, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

And when the police came looking for that missing couple, when Earl and Betty Davis, who everyone knew and liked, told them they had packed up and moved on earlier that day, they would believe them without question, and move on down the line.

He had lead his brother into this, and he had no idea how to get him out.

The banshee had warned them of death, not Earl and Betty's, but their own, and damned if Dean would let that happen.

Warned them, but not in time, not in any way they could have used.

Now, look at where they were, locked up in a basement, tied to the walls, the sick bastard doing god knows what behind them.

He would not let his brother become a date on a cross.

No way.

He had to do something.

Anything.

---

Sam watched the gears turning in his brother's head as he took in the room and then took to staring straight ahead, eyes slightly narrowed, mouth drawn tight. He was thinking.

He would get them out of this, Dean would.

Sam swallowed hard, fear threatening to take him over.

He knew he had to calm down. He had to stop thinking about what had happened, about what could happen, would happen, might happen if they didn't do something.

They needed a plan.

His mind was blank.

What could they do when they didn't know their captor's plan of action?

Even if they could get out of their bonds, what would they do then? Run, he guessed. Get to the car and get out. Take it from there if they could make it that far.

They needed a way to get free. The two of them could overtake him no problem, Sam reasoned. He had a few inches and at least thirty pounds on Sam, maybe more, but with him and Dean both, trained fighters who had done just that to stay alive before, he didn't stand a chance.

He knew Dean would have come to the same conclusion.

The moment would present itself, and when it did, they would take it.

"Now," Earl's voice said from behind them. "Let's get started."

He appeared in front of them holding a large knife.

Sam gulped.

---

Who would he choose first?

That was the only thought on Dean's mind when he saw the knife; would it be him or Sam? He swallowed, watching Sam frantically looking around the room for anything that could help their situation.

Help wasn't coming.

Dean snorted, catching Earl's attention. When he looked up, he saw Earl's blue eyes were cold, no sign of their previous warmth.

He met his gaze, challenged it with steely hazel eyes.

"We have a volunteer."

"No!" Sam cried.

"Sam," Dean said calmly, his gaze still locked on Earl's. "Shut up."

Sam pleaded with his brother, his eyes shining.

Dean smirked.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Wow, did I get stuck on this chapter. Geez. It's here, though, finally! I can't believe I broke a hundred already! You like me! You really like me!... Well, at least you like seeing the Winchester boys get themselves in heaps of trouble. That's okay... I do, too. ;) Review, and I'll bake cookies shaped like Impalas for everyone.

---

It was an army knife, a good seven inches from hilt to tip, a dangerous looking serrated blade that glinted in the dim light of the basement. He held the knife like he knew how to use it, and Dean had no doubt the man was a master.

At the moment, Earl was heating the blade of the knife over a lighter produced from the pocket of his sooty work pants.

Somehow, he doubted it was for sterilization purposes.

The miner had a calm, collected look on his face that was beginning to irritate the hell out of Dean. Right now he'd give anything to wipe that look off his face.

Depositing the lighter in his pocket, Earl grabbed Dean by the elbow and hauled him upright, the burning against his back as it rubbed against the backs of his arms and back.

A wave of nausea hit him, an after effect of the drugs, and he struggled to keep his head clear.

Earl smiled a slow smile that stretched his face into a sinister mask.

"You're going to want to scream," he said.

Carefully pulling the hem of his shirt out, Earl used the knife to slice through the material of his sweatshirt, narrowly avoiding the skin beneath.

"That's good," Earl continued.

With the tip of the blade, Earl pushed the ripped shirts to the side, exposing Dean's chest.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam demanded angrily from his place on the floor.

"Because I can," Earl replied, his voice steely, never taking his eyes off the older Winchester.

"Because you're weak," Dean said, staring him down even still.

Earl swung back to the older brother. "You're not too smart, are you, Dean?"

"Well, I don't know," Dean replied. "I like to think I'm _street_ smart."

Earl laughed humorlessly. "And you think you're funny, too. Not a good mix."

Dean tried to shrug, the movement barely showing.

"I'll deflate your ego, boy, don't you worry," Earl said, sneering.

He began circling Dean, moving slowly.

"Humans are curious things, aren't they? Some of them can withstand hours of pain...others cave after minutes," the miner said thoughtfully. "It's always interesting to see who's who."

Dean could see Sam from the corner of his eye, pulling at the rope constricting him furiously.

"Well, it's one way to get your jollies when Viagra fails," Dean remarked.

The knife came down without warning, opening a bright red stripe on Dean's stomach.

He pulled away from the pain, wincing, without making a sound.

"Your mother never taught you not to talk back, I see," Earl said, disappearing behind him for a moment.

Dean swung his head to the side, catching his brother's eye, trying to play it cool, give him a tough guy grin an show him he was alright. The wound was shallow, barely anything to worry about.

"That's okay," Earl's voice said from behind them. "I'll teach you."

"Please," Sam said, trying to turn around to see what he was up to. "Let us go, you can't want this."

Earl appeared again, wiping the bloody knife on a clean white rag.

"But I do, Sam," he replied. "That's the whole point."

---

How the hell could a guy do a total 360 like this and not get past their radar? It didn't make sense. He and Dean were supposed to be able see right through acts like this, but somehow Earl and Betty... how could they have suspected anything like this? The biggest worry on their minds had been how to save the friendly couple from death or tragedy, and now...

Now they were royally screwed.

Sam knew pleading with Earl would get them nowhere. But at least it would keep him distracted, even for a matter of seconds, enough to prolong injury, give them more of a chance to escape, to to figure out how to do so.

"What about Betty?" he asked. "Does she know what you're doing?"

"She's squeamish, my wife. Can't stand blood," was all Earl said.

How could Betty be a part of this, Sam mourned inside. He had liked her, liked them both, felt comfortable and at ease, and now they were trapped in a dingy cellar, tied and at the mercy of this sick bastard.

There would be time to beat himself up later, Sam reminded himself, this was not the time.

Now was the time for thinking, and soon, action.

It was unnerving, not being able to see what Earl was up to behind them. The hair on his neck stood up at the possibilities.

Sam's mind was going a mile a minute, and he was struggling to maintain composure. How his brother managed to look so calm was a mystery to him.

The moment Earl reappeared, Sam would pulling at the rope around his hands again. On the hope that the miner wouldn't notice while his attention was on Dean, Sam thought maybe he could pull his hands free. Then, when Earl's back was turned, he could be up and on him, knock him out somehow, get Dean free, and make a break for it.

He had ideas, but no way to act on them.

His wrists were already sore and chafed, and the rope had no give. It was a wonder the circulation to his hands wasn't being cut off.

Craning his neck, he inspected the cut on Dean's stomach. The ripped ends of his shirt had fallen back across the wound, covering it for the most part, which meant he couldn't tell if it was still bleeding.

His brother was watching him with raised brows.

Sam offered a shaky smile.

_We'll be okay,_ he wanted to say. _We'll find a way._

And then, Earl stalked back into view, holding something in in his hand.

---

"So, what's our next fun activity?" Dean asked brightly, trying to see what was in the man's hand without being obvious.

Earl's face was stony. "I teach you your lesson, boy."

"Oh, goody, lessons," Dean said dryly. "I do love lessons. Will we be learning to count today, or just figuring out what Blue wants to do?"

Earl's face only briefly showed his confusion, before he shook his head. "I'm really going to enjoy killing you."

Dean let a slow smile spread across his face. "Likewise."

"Any last words?" Earl asked, holding up his hand finally letting the object come into view.

In the light, a curved hook caught the light.

Across from him, he heard Sam take in a sharp breath and hold it.

"You better pray I don't get out of this," Dean said, his voice pure ice.

"I'll make sure of it," Earl replied easily.

He went to work.

---

Sam thought he might be sick, he couldn't watch this, couldn't.

He turned his head and closed his eyes for good measure, ducking his head and breathing in through his mouth and out through his nose, trying to fight off the sickness he felt settle in his stomach.

Dean was making no noise, but he knew it had to hurt like hell.

Earl meant what he said, about teaching him a lesson. His brother wouldn't be talking back now. Not with his mouth sewn shut, literally sewn shut and held tight with some crude black stitch-work. The curved needle moved far too easily through the skin, and though Dean at first tried to move away, Earl held his head against the wooden pillar and used the other one to complete his work.

His brother had closed his eyes, against the pain, he was sure, but Sam had a feeling he also didn't want his baby brother to have to see it.

He was afraid he was going to throw up.

He'd seen a lot of nasty things in his life; dead bodies, ghosts, goblins, demons so ugly they put horror movie creatures to shame. Still, his stomach turned at the sight of this.

He opened his eyes again, and chanced a look.

Dean's mouth was bleeding remarkably little, and Earl stepped back for a moment to inspect his job. Seeming satisfied, he disappeared again.

Leaning heavily against the pillar, Dean opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly and pulling in a deep breath through his nose.

Sam could have cried at the sight of his brother's mouth stitched shut, his eyes refusing to show the pain that was evident.

Earl appeared again, holding a bottle of water and the bloody rag he'd wiped his knife on earlier. He doused the rag in water and dabbed blood from Dean's lips almost tenderly, showing no emotion as the boy pulled away from the touch of the rough fabric on his mouth.

"Nothing to say now," he remarked as he cleaned away the blood.

"You sick bastard!" Sam exploded, his entire body straining against the ties.

"Upset, baby brother?" Earl asked, turning his attention on Sam. "I'd have thought you'd be happy not to hear your brother criticize you anymore."

"Fuck you!" Sam spat, and for a moment he swore Dean looked proud.

"Don't worry," Earl continued. "Your turn will come."

A soft thud made him turn away, and Sam saw that Dean had slid to the ground with some difficulty. His arms were raised painfully behind him, the rope catching on the aged wood.

"Get _up_!" Earl raged, pulling Dean roughly to his feet again.

Sagging, Dean obeyed, still putting most of his weight on the pillar.

Earl reared back and punched Dean, catching him on the jaw, before angrily storming back to his bag of tricks behind them.

"Dean?" Sam asked, not caring that Earl would hear. "Are you okay?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, reeling from the punch.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, his voice small.

All his brother could do was nod, but that in itself comforted him.

Or it did until Earl stalked back carrying more rope.

Sam watched as the miner tied the rope first around Dean's upper legs, then his chest, and finally, looped it around his neck. Biting back a curse, Sam realized that if his brother leaned forward even an inch, he would choke himself. Already weak from being drugged, Sam knew, because he was still feeling rubbery himself, and now with shock a very real possibility, Dean was in no position to stand. How long did Earl plan to make him?

Wiping his hands, Earl stood before the two brothers, glaring.

"No tricks. You won't get out anyway, so don't be stupid," he spat.

Sam was surprised when Earl turned his back on them and went back up the stairs, his footsteps thudding heavily before the door slammed and the lock clicked.

"Good," Sam whispered for Dean's benefit. "It gives us time to work."

Glancing at his brother, Sam swallowed hard.

They had no time.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Impala cookies for everyone! Mind you, I had to cut each one out by hand. ;) Okay, so I'm sick, I admit it, I was just out of boring torture ideas. And yeah, I get a kick out of shockin' y'all. Hah! And how about tonight's episode, huh? Eeesh. Okay, leave me lots of reviews and I'll... um... well, I'll give you another chapter, for starters. Sam and Dean sure have the wrong idea about bonding. :\

---

Dean was tired.

He wouldn't admit it. Not that he could.

God, what he wouldn't give to get his hands on that bastard. Earl Davis had presented himself as a good man, and Dean would make him regret that, he swore on it.

His mouth was on fire, and the effort of keeping it closed tightly so he wouldn't pull on the stitches was getting to him. Likewise, the effort of standing straight and stiff was getting old fast. He wanted nothing more than to sit on the floor and sleep, but the minute his eyes started to droop, his body slumped forward and the pressure on his throat made him start.

God, he wanted to get his hands on that man.

First, he had to get out of this. He had to save Sam.

Then he would make Earl pay.

Something told him he wasn't in the position to get free right now, with his arms tied behind him, and rope looping his body from top to bottom.

But Earl wasn't done. He'd be back.

And when he was, he'd be in the mood for more "lessons", Dean guessed. And that wouldn't go over well with him tied up like he was. The rope was just temporary, he'd bet on it. And the next time Earl untied him, he would be ready.

His arms were aching even before he pulled on the rope, testing yet again for any weakness, trying to shift his wrists to get a little more space. As it was, the only thing he would succeed was to pop his shoulder out of place, and that wouldn't get him anywhere, not tied as he was.

Dammit.

He wanted to talk, wanted to tell Sam it would be okay, at least to try to comfort him, even if he didn't believe it. He wanted to talk to hear the sound of his own voice. Mostly, he wanted to talk because he couldn't.

It was like that with things, he mused. You always wanted most what you couldn't have, even if you didn't realize you wanted it until you realized you couldn't have it.

He was making himself dizzy.

Shaking his head to clear it, he looked down at his brother, who was also pulling at the rope around his wrists. He'd been at it for a while. How long, he had no way of measuring, but he knew his brother's wrists had to be bleeding by now.

He wanted to tell him to cool it, to get some sleep, that he'd need it, but he couldn't, and dammit, it was frustrating.

Voicing his frustration in a surge of energy, he made a strangled groan and tensed his body, pulling against the rope, letting it cut into his body, putting pressure on it in hopes that it would give just a little.

Nothing.

Sam was looking at him now, curious, worried.

Dean banged his head on the pillar, angry now.

Dammit, he should have known.

He should never have trusted these people, never let his guard down.

If anything happened...

"Dean?"

His brother's voice broke into his thoughts, and Dean tried his best to look at Sam, though the rope around his neck rubbed him raw when he moved his head.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, looking scared.

Dean wanted to say, _No, I'm pissed._

He settled for nodding instead.

"We're gonna get out of this," Sam said.

Dean wanted to laugh, he wanted to chide his brother for taking on the role of the calm, reassuring brother.

He attempted to say his brother's name, but the slightest movement sent fire through his lips, and he gave up, issuing only a muffled grunt.

Sam gulped.

Great, he was scaring him even more.

What could he do? He couldn't move, he couldn't speak. How could he reassure him, by blinking Morse code?

Not such a bad idea if Sam caught on, but he couldn't remember Morse code if his life depended on it. Which, as it turned out, it just might.

He'd learn. After they escaped, he'd learn.

Just in case.

God, he was tired.

He just wanted to sleep.

---

Sam saw his brother's beginning to droop, saw the rope tighten and Dean jerk upright with a snort, eyes suddenly wide and alert.

"So, uh..." Sam stopped to clear his throat, pulling on the ropes around his wrists as he talked, "you remember that summer I was eight?"

Dean's head cocked slightly.

"We were on that trip with Dad," Sam continued, trailing off as he suddenly got an idea.

Moving his legs first and using them to dig into the dirt floor of the basement, he shifted his body slightly, turning. He was facing Dean now, feeling the corner of the wooden pillar pressing into his back. With a grunt, he dug in and moved his body again, feeling the strain on his shoulders and arms.

Dean's head was turned as much as the rope would allow, trying to follow Sam's movement as he repositioned himself on the pillar.

"Maybe if I can get turned around, I can grab something to cut away the ropes," Sam spoke softly, half to himself.

It was slow going, and painful, but it was progress, at least.

"That summer," Sam started up again, his voice strained. "We were on the coast. I was mad, 'cause I wanted to go to camp like the rest of the kids, but Dad made me come anyway."

He bit back a cry as the rope chafed his already raw wrists, but kept going.

"Man, was I pissed," he laughed. "But you... you convinced Dad to let us go to the beach when we were finished. I had no idea how you got him to do that, he was always dragging us from one place to the next. Like it was normal to take your grade school kids on paranormal hunting trips."

He was facing the opposite direction now, his goal achieved.

"It was nice," Sam said softly, taking stock of the sight before him. "Normal."

A long wooden workbench sat against the wall, tools hanging on the pegboard back, and other miscellaneous items piled on the top, too high for Sam to see. Next to the table, three large wire crates were piled on top of each other.

"This guy's sick," Sam told his brother, knowing he'd be curious but unable to ask. "There's a work bench and some tools. Knives, maybe, I can see something shiny. I guess...dog crates? Traps?"

He knew what his brother would ask.

"It's too far away to reach," he said dejectedly, eyes scanning the floor in the hopes that something might have fallen without Earl noticing.

Even if he stretched out his legs, the tips of his shoes came nowhere near the end of the table.

"We spent the day at the beach," he said suddenly, choking back tears or anger, or both. "It was my first time in the water. You taught me how to swim, even though you suck."

He imagined his brother's retort, an offended, _'I do not suck!"_

"Dad just sat on the beach, watching is," Sam recounted, resting his back on the pillar. "He'd never admit it, but I think he enjoyed it. Taking a break. Being a family."

---

Dean could hear the sounds of his brother moving around again, shuffles and little groans of pain he did his best to contain.

Maybe after this, they would take a break. It would be good for Sam, he'd like it.

Hell, maybe he'd take him to the beach.

Anything to get that sad voice to go away.

With a final grunt, Sam heaved himself back into view, and Dean tried to watch him settle back into place, to make sure his brother was okay, unnerved at the ability to see him fully.

"You convinced that girl to lend us her frisbee," Sam said in a hoarse voice, sounding tired as hell. "I couldn't figure out how to make it fly right."

Dean wanted to shut him up. He knew his brother meant well, but it was only making him sad, and sad would get them nowhere.

He remembered that day, alright. His brother grinned the entire day, and told him, after a promise not to tell their Dad, that it was as good as any camp. Better, even.

Dean would have smiled, if it weren't for the stitches sealing his lips.

God, what a situation they were in.

And for the life of him, he could not see a way out of it.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Another fun chapter from a sick, sick mind. Hah! I hope you guys are still liking this. Reviews will be met with open arms, and in return, I will send you all seventeen sled dogs. Or cats, if you prefer, but really, you're not getting anywhere on seventeen house cats. Enjoy the fun!

---

It was like some cliched horror movie. The thud of the feet on the stairs was almost as loud as the heart pounding in his chest. It jerked him out of the light sleep he didn't know he'd fallen into.

Startled into consciousness, it took Sam a moment to remember where they were, and what had happened. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes and fighting back a yawn, he glanced over at his brother, half expecting to see him hanging limp and breathless from the ropes.

Dean was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the stairs as Earl's boots came into view.

Sam breathed a brief sigh of relief and shivered, as much from the chill of the basement as the prospect of facing this man again.

"Rise and shine, kiddies," Earl said as he descended the stairs.

Sam watched him as he crossed the room, wishing looks really could kill.

Earl paused to take in the brothers, and smiled slowly. "You're still alive, I see."

Sam glared.

"I'll remedy that," Earl promised, heading directly to his worktable.

God, what was next?

---

Dean was tired.

No, tired wasn't a good enough for for what he was. Hell, exhausted didn't even cover it. He was beyond exhausted, weary deep into his bones, his eyes so gritty it hurt to blink. How he'd managed to keep from tipping forward and just sleeping himself to death, he'd never know. He'd had to stay awake for long periods of time before, but never just recovering from the effects of a drug. And never having to suffer through the beginnings of shock.

And now, the bastard was back for more.

Suddenly, Dean felt pressure on the ropes holding his arms together, felt the blade of a knife graze the side of his hand, and then the sudden lack of stress as the rope was cut, thrust him forward, his weak knees unable to hold him.

Eyes watering and bulging, Dean struggled to regain his footing, the rope around his neck now severely cutting off his air supply. He could feel the rope around his lower body being removed slowly. Earl was in no rush at all as he hung there, choking.

"Dean!"

He heard Sam call out.

"Stop it!"

And then a laugh from Earl.

Bastard.

Black spots danced at the edge of his vision. He was suffocating.

_Oh, God..._

And then the rope around his neck was released, too, and he fell face first onto the floor, his nose banging painfully into the soft dirt floor.

He lay there, stunned, breathing hard through his nose, feeling like a fish out of water, still unable to get all the oxygen he needed.

A swift kick to his stomach twisted him onto his back, and he gagged, bringing to mind the whole new fear of choking in his own vomit.

As he lay there, Dean knew he should be fighting back, but he couldn't control his body. His brain was screaming at him to get up and attack, but all he could do was look up in time to see Earl's hands coming down to grasp him around the neck.

Pulling him up by the tatters of his torn shirts, Earl planted a solid punch to his jaw, snapping Dean's head back.

"Dean!" Sam cried again.

That was all he needed to bring him back to reality.

Sam, worried, scared, in trouble.

Dean swung his fist.

Earl dodged the neatly, much to swiftly for someone his age.

Dean suspected torturing people in his basement must do wonders for this man's physique.

The momentum of the punch sent him forward, directly into Earl's fist as it caught him in the stomach.

Barely able to grunt, Dean doubled over, and was sent to the ground with a final punch.

"Come here," Earl said, sounding disgusted, hauling Dean to his feet again.

Dean was bleeding as much from the punches as his fall moments earlier, the blood pouring from his nose, and over his lips. He was breathing with difficulty, and Earl shook his head as he looked at him.

"Somehow I thought you'd put up more of a fight," Earl said, holding Dean by one shoulder as he pulled the ripped shirts from him.

Switching his grasp, he pulled the shirt from Dean and let it fall to the floor. "You were so spirited before. Have I broken you already?"

Pulling Dean along with him, he went back to his workbench and retrieved more rope.

It was all Dean could do to stay on his feet as he stumbled behind the man as he led him back to the center of the room. There, still gripping Dean by the shoulder, he tossed the rope up, looping it around a rafter, and pulled both of Dean's arms up over his head.

Facing Sam head on now, Dean saw the look of panic on his brother's face.

_Sammy..._

---

His brother was in pain, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. He'd allowed hope to wash over him when Dean threw that punch, but knew there was no strength to back it up. His hopes had crashed.

Dean was strung up in the middle of the room, and it was worse now that he could see him fully.

His jeans were filthy, his face bloody, his skin ashen, eyes weary as he watched Earl retreat to the table, then return holding something in his hand.

Sam let his eyes gaze to the instrument in Earl's fingers.

It was a small surgical scalpel, delicate and wickedly sharp.

Sam cringed as he raised the instrument.

He almost looked away, when he saw Earl gently place it to the strings holding Dean's lips together, the stitches splitting easily under the sharp blade. The miner removed the stitches carefully, and the minute they were gone, Dean opened his mouth and drew in deep, shuddering breaths.

"Can't have to suffocating just yet," Earl mused. "Even if it ruins my work."

"Dean!" Sam cried, watching his brother's chin meet his chest.

No answer.

"Are you okay?" he tried again.

"You," Earl spat, spinning. "Need to shut up."

He approached quickly, delivering a sudden, sharp blow to the side of Sam's head, an open handed slap with enough force to make his ears ring.

He shut up, watching the miner with narrowed eyes.

"Brothers," Earl used the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "One won't shut up."

He lashed out suddenly, opening a cut across Dean's upper chest and shoulder.

"And one won't fucking scream!" Earl raged.

Sam watched his brother raise his head slowly, regarding Earl with tired eyes.

"Oh, but you will," Earl's lips twisted angrily.

Dean's eyes followed him again, and Sam strained to see what Earl was doing as he disappeared.

For a moment, Sam turned back around and caught Dean's eyes.

He held his brother's gaze, even as Earl returned.

Forced to break the contact, when Earl spun his brother around, Sam swallowed hard when he saw what he had in store.

With a flick of his wrist the whip unraveled.

And with one savage motion, he brought it down, hard across his brother's back.

Dean didn't scream.

The next one was harder.

And still, nothing.

With a cry of rage, Earl lashed out, the whip meeting it's target and easily splitting the flesh.

Then again, and again.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Okay, okay, here's an extra Impala cookie for EVERYONE who's still reading. Two for those who review. ;) To comfort you through the long night ahead of the boys, hot chocolate will also be served. I've been working on an idea for another story, but I'm going to finish this one first. So, I hope you'll stay tuuuuned. ;)

---

Dean was gone.

His eyes were wide open, staring at the wall without fixating or focusing.

Only the barely visible rise and fall of his chest told his brother that he was still alive.

Sam had no way of knowing how much time had passed, only gauging the severity of each crack of whip on skin by weather it simply raised an angry welt, or opened a deep gash across his brother's back.

At first, Dean had taken each blow with a closed-mouthed grunt, his body tense.

Now, his knees were bent, his body literally hanging from the ropes on the rafters. His body was slack, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Sam knew this tactic.

His brother had removed himself from the basement. Taken himself someplace far away, maybe to some past memory, maybe not. It was a method of dealing with severe pain he'd never quite mastered. Escape your body, escape the pain.

His brother's back was a mass of criss-crossing gashes, raw flesh and torn skin somewhere underneath all the blood.

It made Sam sick enough that he had to turn away. He couldn't watch that anymore.

They had to get out of here. It was settling in, now, something painfully obvious, but something that he hadn't really realized until now. He knew it, but he couldn't grasp it.

If they did not escape, they would die.

Dean would die.

He would die.

Until now he'd held out the hope that they'd make it out of this remotely unscathed. Bruises and cuts and slightly stitched, maybe, but alive.

Now, his brother hung there with a shredded back and blank eyes, and Sam was forced to watch and wait for his turn.

---

_"Dean!"_

_He was twelve years old again._

_"Dean, come **on**!" _

_His brother was yelling for him, paused so far ahead he was just a speck on the horizon._

_He ran to catch up, his legs scissoring powerfully. Even that young, he was built to fight, to survive._

_His brother took off running ahead of him, but Dean soon closed the gap between them, slowing his pace to match his brother, the scrawny kid who was panting and struggling to keep up to his brother._

_"Race you!" Sammy gasped._

_"I don't wanna," Dean replied, his bare feet tearing through the sand._

_"Cos you know...I'll win!" Sammy said, his arms pumping as he furiously tried to overtake his brother._

_"Fine," Dean slowed to a stop. "We'll race."_

_He made a big deal of breathing hard as he let his brother catch his breath._

_"To the lifeguard stand," he pointed up ahead. "Winner gets shotgun."_

_Dean always rode shotgun._

_"Okay!" Sammy grinned at the prospect of sitting up front with his dad._

_"Ready...set...go!"_

_Sammy took off, and an instant later, Dean followed, easily pulling ahead of his baby brother._

_Hearing the labored breathing of his brother behind him, Dean slowed, pretending to be tired, never looking at his brother, keeping his eyes on that lifeguard stand in the distance._

_His brother put on a burst of speed, catching up, and Dean could see him watching him as they ran._

_Closer... _

_Closer._

_He was going to win._

_Dean stumbled, going down hard but landing easily in the soft sand, watching his brother race off ahead, touching the legs of the lifeguard stand and running back to him, gleefully breathless._

_"I won!" he cried. "I beat you! I won!"_

_Dean picked himself up and brushed the sand off his shorts. _

_"Only 'cause I tripped, shrimp," he said sharply, defensive._

_Sammy only grinned, jumping up and down._

_Dean turned away so his brother wouldn't see the grin._

_Sam would be pissed if he knew his brother had let him win._

---

Sam watched warily as Earl cleaned the whip off, shaking his head at Dean's limp body.

"Looks like it's your turn," the miner said as he looped the whip around his arm.

Sam swallowed hard.

Earl returned without the whip and hauled Sam to his feet, splinters of wood grabbing at his shirt. He struggled to keep upright, his legs weak and stiff from sitting in the same awkward position for so long.

"You'll give me what I want, won't you?" Earl sneered.

Sam cringed.

Earl met that with a laugh. "Oh yeah... you'll be a screamer."

"Please."

The whisper was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

Sam watched as Earl whipped around to see Dean, blinking rapidly, staring between the man and his brother.

"What?" Earl demanded.

"Please," Dean repeated, the word rasping from his dry, bloody lips.

"Please, what?" Earl prompted.

"Not Sammy," Dean pleaded.

Sam felt Earl's eyes creep over him, and shivered.

"No Sammy, eh?" Earl said, walking to Dean.

"Please," Dean continued.

Sam could hardly believe his ears. His brother did not beg. Ever.

"Don't... don't hurt him."

Earl laughed in his face, and Sam strained against his ropes.

"There's a trade off," Earl said. "Because if I don't hurt your brother, I'm going to hurt you. And you are just not all that fun anymore, Dean. You just sit there, don't make a sound, take what I dish out. Where's the challenge?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Earl disappeared again, then opened them, watching Dean's for some sign of what Earl was doing.

His brother looked at him, eyes still blank, glassy, but at least they focused on him this time.

They were apologetic eyes.

---

Earl returned with a thin metal pipe, one end wrapped in fabric, and for a minute, Dean prepared himself for another beating. When he produced the lighter, Dean shut his eyes, knowing it was worse.

"Open your eyes," Earl demanded.

And because he could think of nothing else, Dean complied.

Heating the end of the pipe not wrapped in cloth, Earl took his time, his eyes roving Dean's chest, before he quickly placed the end to his stomach.

With a cry that shocked Sam and Earl both, Dean fought to get his legs beneath him and move away from the hot metal.

Satisfied, Earl heated the end again.

Viciously, he jabbed the end of it into Dean's bruised stomach.

And Dean screamed.

---

Sam was in hell, in literal hell, with the flame of the lighter reflecting in his brother's eyes, and the agonized screams as Earl scorched his flesh over and over again, leaving singed circles on his brother's skin.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, pulling against his ties. "Stop it you sick son of a bitch!"

Earl whirled around, furious, the craze of anger blazing in his eyes, and he came at Sam, swinging the pipe and catching him across the stomach.

Either the metal was too cool, or Sam's shirts were too thick to feel the heat, but the savage blow forced the air from his lungs, and brought involuntary tears to his eyes.

Over and over again, Earl swung, catching Sam in the stomach.

In defense, Sam tried to slide to the ground, but he had no use of his hands to cover his head, and was afraid of the blow he might receive. He wanted to be conscious, he needed to be conscious.

He was finally forced to the ground, though, as Earl brought the pipe down on his shoulder, and pulled back, gearing up for one final, brutal swing.

Sam closed his eyes.

But nothing came.

He heard a sick thud, and opened his eyes to see his brother standing before him, breathing hard, staring down with a face full of hatred and fury.

Sam blinked once, making sure he wasn't dreaming.

Earl was slumped on the ground, and his brother was holding the pipe.

Sam blinked again, this time in confusion, and stared behind his brother where the rope still hung.

"Dean?"


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I wanna thank Stony Angel for pointing out that I forgot one of the most basic rules of fanfiction etiquette...I really should have put warnings at the beginnings of my chapters to let you all know the sick twisted stuff I had up ahead... bonks self on head BIG bad on my part.

I also want to thank everyone who's reading and taking the time to review. I really appreciate it, and knowing so many of you are reading and waiting for the next part really helps me write. You ALL get more Impala cookies (I should really try to make one of those, huh?)

So, if you'll all forgive my mistake, here's the next chapter... warning... there's some sick stuff in this story. ;)

(( Subliminal message : review! ))

---

Dean stared at his brother for a moment, swaying unsteadily on his bound feet for a moment.

Without another word, he fell to his knees.

"Dean?"

He looked up at Sam for a moment, the boy disheveled and confused, then back to Earl, a heap on the floor.

His brother questioned him again, the voice sounding far away.

_No time, no time, no time._

He couldn't get his thoughts to organize right. He knew there was something more important to do than sitting there on his legs, staring.

_Knife._

He needed a knife. He needed to the rope on his ankles. Then he needed to free Sam.

In an awkward crawl, he headed for the workbench, where Earl had left the knife he'd used to cut Dean.

On his knees, too exhausted to stand, Dean felt for the knife.

Upon reaching their target, his fingers closed around the hilt, pulling the knife off of the table. Fumbling with stiff fingers, he got a better grip on the knife, his stomach churning as he fought to ignore the sight of his own blood on the blade.

His mind was foggy.

He had distracted Earl by pleading, and satisfied him by screaming. Not long enough to keep him from Sam, and his mind raced as he tried to free himself. How badly had Sam been beaten? He was conscious, talking, but the way Earl had laid that pipe to him...

Dean blinked to clear his eyes, sawing at the rope.

He'd seen the miner take that pipe and bash his baby brother's chest. In his mind's eye, he saw broken ribs, punctured lungs. To be beaten to death was not farfetched, and not unheard of.

How he'd freed his hands was a mystery to him, even still. He could only guess that the weight of his body hanging from the line had somehow stretched the rope, or maybe he'd just lost enough skin from his wrists to slip on through. It had taken effort, effort he wouldn't have without the help of gravity additionally pulling him.

Thank you, gravity.

The rope finally severed, Dean turned slowly, and focused on Sam's hands. Rather, on not cutting Sam's hands.

He could hear his brother panting heavily as he sawed away.

As soon as the rope was removed, Sam's hands disappeared, and Dean found it unsettling. He crawled forward, unable or unwilling to try standing.

"Dean?" Sam was asking, his eyes wide.

His brother was rubbing his chafed wrists, wincing, and then wiping the embarrassing traces of tears out of his eyes.

Dean dropped the knife, looked down as if noticing it for the first time. "Fuck."

"Here," Sam said needlessly, reaching out for the weapon.

As he leaned forward to cut the rope around his ankles, he inhaled sharply.

Instantly, Dean was pushing him back, ignoring the pain in his own body. "Sammy?"

"I'm okay," Sam winced. "My ribs."

Dean took the knife again, almost dropping it. Taking a two handed grip to assure he wouldn't, he delicately cut the ropes as fast as he dared.

Once free, Sam immediately drew his legs up to his chest, cringing at the pain, then straightened them out again, trying to relieve the cramped muscles.

Dean knew they couldn't afford to sit around. They had to go. They had to go _now._

The only problem was, he wasn't sure he could stand.

---

Sam watched his brother kneeling in front of him, eyes on the ground, face slack.

"Dean?" he asked, reaching out a hand to touch his brother's arm gently.

Dean's head snapped up.

"We gotta go," Sam said, climbing to his feet with some difficulty.

"Captain Obvious," Dean mumbled softly, placing his palm on the ground and trying to rise.

Wrapping one hand around his aching chest, Sam reached out to his brother, infinitely thankful for the small joke. Even if it was unfunny and overused, his brother was able to joke. That in itself was a miracle.

When his brother accepted his hand, Sam stepped backwards, pulling him up, biting his lip at the hiss of pain Dean let out.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Dean swayed.

"No!" Sam cried softly as Dean's knees buckled.

He reached out quickly, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist. In turn, his brother yelped.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sam apologized, eyes widening.

He couldn't touch his brother without hurting him, but he knew Dean wasn't going to be able to walk without his support.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean said in a tiny voice.

"I'm sorry," Sam said again, "we gotta go."

"I know," Dean replied, eyeing the staircase warily.

His chest stabbing bolts of pain through him with every step, Sam helped guide his brother to the staircase, the hair on the back of his neck standing up at the thought of turning their prone backs on Earl.

They climbed the stairs slowly, each in too much pain to do much but bite down and bear it.

At the top, Sam let them rest only a moment, ignoring Dean's labored breathing as he turned the knob.

Nothing.

It was locked.

Dean rested his head against the wall as Sam turned the knob furiously this way and that.

"It's locked," he wailed in a whisper. "Dean!"

_Don't panic_, part of him chided. The other part screamed, _PANIC!_

Level headed thinking is what they needed.

Okay, so they might be screwed.

What could they do? There were no windows in the basement, no other doors, this was the only way out.

"Earl," Dean said suddenly. "He has to have a key. His pockets."

Sam regarded the stairs to the basement reproachfully.

"Stay here, he said, after a moment.

Making sure Dean was settled against the wall safely, Sam hurried as fast as his injuries allowed into the basement again. Skirting Earl's body with a look of disgust, Sam knelt, and nudged him, half expecting the man to grab him.

He was still down; Dean must have got him good.

Turning his face away with a grimace, Sam reached into Earl's front pocket.

Nothing.

"Dammit," Sam grumbled, reaching into the other.

Success.

His fingers closed around the object, fishing it from the pocket triumphantly.

"Yes," he whispered, and stood up.

Again, he expected that as he turned away, Earl's hand would reach out, grab his ankle, and drag him down.

He made it to the stairs safely.

---

"Got it?" Dean asked, opening his eyes as his brother reached him.

Sam held it up with a grin.

"Thank fucking God," Dean sighed, closing his eyes again.

He was so tired...

"Let's go," Sam said, twisting the key and shoving the door open.

Dean groaned and stumbled forward, following his brother out of the basement.

The rest of the house looked immaculate in comparison to the dirt and grime of the basement. It looked familiar and the once comforting colors now made Dean sick to the stomach.

"Gun," he said.

"What?" Sam asked, turning around.

"Gun," Dean repeated, looking at the stairs to the second floor. "Car."

"Gun, car," Sam rolled his eyes. "Wait here."

"No!" Dean said, reaching forward in a sudden motion that sent ripples of pain down his back.

Sam was at his side in an instant.

"Betty," Dean explained. "She's old, but we don't know what she's capable of."

And suddenly, he was laughing, uncontrollably, quiet and breathy, trying to hold back the noise.

"What the hell is funny?" Sam demanded.

"We got fucking kidnapped by the AARP," Dean said, his laughter holding no humor. "We - we..."

As quickly as it came, the laughter was gone, and his face was stony again. He swore under his breath as Sam watched him with concern.

"Upstairs," he said, feeling a bit stronger now.

Sam shook his head, but wrapped his arm around Dean's waist again, and they crept as quietly as they could to the stairs.

It was sad is what it was. Two old bitches getting their hands on the Winchester brothers, not only getting the better of them, but almost killing them. He wouldn't let that happen again. He wouldn't be unarmed.

They struggled to their rooms and separated at the end of the hallway. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him, making sure his brother got into the room without collapsing before he would do anything himself.

Dean stumbled to the bed and hefted his heavy duffle bag onto the comforter, digging through it without regard to what he tossed on the floor in his search for his gun.

There it was, hidden beneath several shirts and a pair of socks.

The weight comforting in his hand, Dean checked the magazine, clicked it back into place. Satisfied and with the safety on, Dean tucked the gun into the front of the waist of his jeans. No way he could reach around to the small of his back right now, and he was not going to add to his list of injuries.

He wanted desperately to sit, but instead forced himself into the hallway, happy to be moving under his own steam.

Sam met him, holding his gun and a zip up hooded sweatshirt.

He held it up for Dean apologetically.

Dean sighed and nodded silently.

Feeling like they were wasting precious time, and ridiculous that his brother had to help him dress, but knowing he didn't have a choice right now, Dean let Sam help him into the jacket. He wanted to scream as the soft fabric of Sam's hoodie touched the open wounds on his back, but swallowed it back.

Panting at the exertion it took to keep quiet, and from the fire in his back, Dean fumbled with the zipper.

"Here," Sam said, reaching for it.

Dean shoved his hands away angrily, but Sam pushed back, his eyes gentle but adamant.

Dean let his arms go limp in acquiescence.

"Let's go," he hissed angrily when Sam finished, shoving past him, and leading the way down the hallway.

"Half dead, he still thinks he's MacGyver," he heard Sam mutter behind him.

Smiling, Dean led him to the stairway.

Nothing, still.

It wasn't right... where was Betty?

"We gotta make a run for the car," Dean said, eyes searching.

Sam nodded.

Nothing else was said. On his cue, Dean and Sam descended the stairs, each silently praying the wood wouldn't creak. They hadn't had reason to notice before, and now it could be their death warrant.

They reached the bottom undetected, which only made Dean more nervous.

Something was wrong.

---

It was too quiet.

Sam had learned that mostly it was quiet when something wanted it to be. When something or someone was waiting in the darkness. When something was really wrong.

So he shouldn't have been surprised when they rounded the corner to the front door, and someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him backward.

With a cry, Sam was shoved against the wall.

He knew it was Earl without seeing him. The rough grasp was too familiar for comfort.

Dean spun around, hearing Sam's cry and the clattering of his gun as it hit the floor.

"Let him go," his brother said slowly.

"What's the magic word?" Earl asked lightly from behind Sam, his body pinning the younger boy to the wall.

"I'm not asking you," Dean said. "I'm telling you."

"You're not in the position to do much about it, boy," Earl replied with a drawl.

"Sammy won't scream for you, either," Dean told him, taking a step forward.

"Stay there," Earl demanded.

"Or what?" Dean asked icily, his eyes suddenly sharp and determined. "What will you do?"

Sam felt Earl shift and knew instinctively that he was reaching for his knife. He tried to pull out of his grasp, but Earl was strong, and Sam's reserves of strength were just about spent.

Faster than an injured person should be able to move, Dean launched himself forward. At the same time, Sam twisted to the side, and felt Earl's fingers slip as his brother impacted, sending them both to the ground.

Sam spun, eyes frantically searching for the knife, his body fueling him with the fight or flight response.

_Fight_.

Earl was on his feet as Dean got to his knees, and the knife caught a glare of light.

"No!" Sam cried.

Dean swung his fist, catching Earl in the stomach and sending him back a step, just long enough for the older brother to get to his feet. In a fluid movement, Dean jammed the base of his palm into Earl's nose, bone cracking audibly.

Earl cried out and fell to his knees, clutching his splintered nose.

Dean reared back and delivered a solid kick to his neck.

From behind the two, Sam heard a scream, saw Betty covering her mouth in horror.

If Dean heard the scream, he didn't acknowledge it. While Earl was distracted with the gushing blood, Dean pulled the gun from his pants.

---

"No, Dean!" Sam cried, reaching out a hand, but unable to make his feet move.

Would his brother really take another human life?

Earl was a monster, but still a living breathing _human_ kind of monster.

"Don't fuck with family," Dean spat savagely, his words dripping with such hatred it shocked Sam. "Especially mine."

And with that, he brought the butt of the gun down hard on Earl's head.

Simultaneously, Earl crashed to the ground, Betty rushed to his side, and Dean ran to his brother, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him outside.

Adrenaline was the only reason they made it out of the house as fast as they did.

"Keys!" Sam said, and Dean retrieved them from his pocket.

They skidded to a halt in front of the car.

"Oh, shit," Dean swore.

Sam echoed his statement.

Jutting out of the front driver's side tire was a familiar hunting knife.

All four tires were flat.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer : Yeah, still the same sick twisted stuff. Probably some language and some not so fun times.

A/N: So, this took a while longer than usual. I'm not sure why. You guys have been really great about reviewing, and nudging me back to this story when I got off track with that other little piece I did. Hah! And come on... you all know I can't let these boys off easy, right?

---

"Oh, I really should have killed that bastard," Dean muttered as he took in the sight of his car.

"What now?" Sam asked, his eyes darting to the front door of the peaceful looking house.

"Two things I never thought we'd do," Dean said, a grimace twisting his face.

"What?" Sam asked, turning away from the car.

"We leave the car, and we get the cops."

Earl and Betty were not ghosts or demons; they would not disappear if they were killed. Besides, he didn't really think he had it in him to off two elderly townies. The only thing he could think of was to get to town, get the cops, and get them back here before Earl and Betty had time to cover their tracks. It would be hard enough to convince the townsfolk that two of their finest citizens were hiding something this big. Their collective injuries would help; so would seeing the basement torture chamber.

Problem was, Earl and Betty probably realized that, too. Which meant they would be in a hurry to clean up their messes and catch the witnesses that threatened to blow their operation.

"Let's go," Sam nodded, starting off towards the road.

Dean grabbed his arm. "No."

"What?" Sam looked back.

"Too easy," Dean said quickly. "They'd catch us."

"Well then - " Sam started to ask.

"Woods," Dean filled in.

Sam groaned. "Dean, you can barely stand. How do you propose we do that?"

"Stick near the road, far enough away we won't be seen," Dean said, eyes going to the front door. "And I suggest we hurry."

Sam followed his gaze to the front door.

Without another word, Dean started for the woods, his pace little more than a walk, knowing his brother was watching his every move.

"Sam, go," he hissed at a whisper.

Sam gave the front door one last look before he took jogged to catch up to his brother, one arm wrapped around his chest. He easily caught up with Dean, and slowed his pace to match his brothers.

"Are you okay for this?" he asked, watching his brother's awkward stumbling jog.

Dean was sweating from the effort it took to move, his teeth clenched, and his eyes narrowed, focused on the line of trees just ahead.

Wordlessly, Sam reached an arm out to help him.

Dean glared and slapped the hand away.

"I'm fine," he said in a low voice, realizing how ridiculous it was.

He was not okay. Neither of them were.

He had no idea how he managed to stay upright as they trudged through the snow, dodging bare branches and trying to keep to the road.

His back was some combination of fire and ice, shooting pain he could feel coupling with a growing numbness. His legs were rubbery and it hurt to even open his mouth. Adrenaline fueled him now, but it would wear off sooner rather than later, and then, he had no idea. With no way to gauge how far it was to town, he had to face the possibility that he might not make it that far.

And then what?

---

Sam's ribs ached with every jarring impact of his feet on the ground. They protested as he slid in the snow and had to catch a branch to keep his balance. His body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into a soft bed with painkillers dancing their way through his veins and sleep for days.

Instead, he shivered as a gust of wind kicked snow into his face, and followed close behind his brother, which wasn't hard considering the pace Dean set.

His eyes drilled holes in the back of Dean's neck, waiting for him to accept his help. It was horrible watching him stumble along, sucking in breaths when the pain hit him especially bad.

And if _he_ hurt this much, he couldn't begin to imagine how his brother must feel.

All he knew for sure was they needed to get to town, and they needed to get there fast. They were out of trouble for the me meantime, but he dared let a sigh of relief pass his lips until the cops were leading the Davis's away in handcuffs. He had to admit he was amazed Dean had even suggested bringing the authorities into it. He knew Dean was no monster, but he couldn't help feeling there would be some justification in their -

He shook his head, refusing to let those kind of thoughts cross his mind.

Nothing warranted taking the life of another human being. Not ever.

He was rescued from those thoughts when Dean let out a runt of surprise, his foot catching on a root.

Sam reached forward, just missing Dean's sweatshirt, helpless to watch as his brother thrust out his hands, awkwardly catching himself on his hands and knees.

Kneeling beside him, Sam placed a hand on his knee, imploring Dean to look at him.

Dean's eyes were tired and bloodshot when they met his own.

"Come on," Sam said, standing stiffly and holding out a hand.

"I can do it," Dean muttered, pushing himself up slowly.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam cried. "Why is it so hard for you to accept help? You're _hurt_!"

Dean looked at him but said nothing, brushing half-heartedly at the wet knees of his jeans with a hand.

"I don't need help," Dean said roughly. "I can fucking walk on my own, Sam."

To prove his point, he took another staggering step forward.

Sam shook his head.

"Dean, you can barely stand," he said, trying to keep his voice soft.

Just in case.

Dean didn't even turn around.

"Dean!" Sam called, more insistently this time.

And still, nothing.

Angry at being ignored, Sam reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, spinning him around.

Letting out a gasp at the sudden touch, Dean parried the attack by grabbing Sam's wrist and twisting it so that Sam now faced the opposite direction.

The hand on his wrist was like steel, and the sudden movement was too much; Sam couldn't bite back the cry.

No sooner had the sound left his lip, Dean let go, shoving Sam slightly.

He spun around angrily, but his face fell when he saw his brother's ashen face, staring at him with what Sam could only call sorrow.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, backing up a step. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

His brother's voice sounded so small, so pathetic and so unlike Dean, that Sam wanted to shake him and demand his real brother to show himself.

Sam took a step closer, which only prompted Dean to take another step back.

"Dean," Sam reached out his hand.

"I can't, Sam!" Dean cried suddenly.

"Can't what?" Sam asked, lost.

"I _can't_," Dean stressed.

Sam shook his head, not understanding.

"I have to rely on myself, Sam," Dean said. "I have to - I have to watch out for you. We can't trust anyone. We can't depend on anyone but Dad, and now he's gone. It's just us... I have to look out for you."

The pained look on Dean's face shocked Sam.

"Did...did Dad tell you that?" Sam asked, finally.

Dean shook his head. "Forget it."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Forget it!" Dean replied forcefully.

"You want me to just forget you said that?" Sam asked, scoffing. "That Dad made me your burden?"

"You're not a burden, you're my brother!" Dean interjected. "We're all we have and we can't trust anyone else, Sam. You spend a lifetime learning not to trust people, it sort of sticks."

Sam laughed shortly.

"You said it, Dean. I'm your brother. I'm all you have right now," he sneered. "I should be the one person in the world you do trust. Not Dad, who ran out on us and doesn't even reply to our thousands of phone calls. Who sends us off on insane hunts and doesn't call to make sure we made it back alive. Me. Your brother."

Dean stood, trembling as the wind picked up again.

"I do trust you," he said softly.

"Then let me help you!" Sam cried. Then, quietly, "Please."

Dean took a few steps backward, shaking his head as he walked. He stumbled again, nearly falling backwards on a dip in the ground, but kept walking, putting distance between them.

"Sam..." he said slowly. "I don't need help."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You - "

He was cut off as a loud creaking noise filled the air.

He spared a look around before his eyes came back to Dean, who stood perfectly still, staring directly at Sam.

Again, the creaking noise caught Sam's attention, a distinctive cracking sound following.

Dean blinked once, eyes on his brother. "Sammy..."

The world gave out beneath them both.

Once, as Dean fell.

And then, as Sam watched him disappear into the gaping hole that had formed in the ground.

A splash, and then the call of a crow high overhead.

Silence.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Two things. One, I upped my rating, because I don't want this to be yoinked off the site, and it did get a _little_ more... twisted than I had previously anticipated. And two, I've had this last part planned from the beginning, so any similarities between certain aspects of this and P.L Wynter's story The Man In The Dark, (because it involves water :P) are purely coincidental. And not really all that similar. I'm just making sure!

---

Sam stared at the chasm that had so suddenly swallowed his brother, a jagged hole in the ice neither brother had seen. Hidden beneath the snow, but not entirely frozen, ran the river Betty and Earl had warned them about earlier.

The shock wore off after a matter of seconds, and Sam vaulted forward, over the small dip and onto the ice, laying down on his stomach to spread his weight out.

Keeping his ears open for any signs of the ice giving way, Sam crept toward the void of black that was such a contrast to the white ground around him.

Forced to stop and back up when he heard a creak, Sam could only stare at the hole.

His mind raced, waiting for Dean to surface, and trying desperately to think of how to get him out.

Or what would happen if he didn't.

---

The shock of the water was enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Dean felt the air escape him explosively, in a burst of bubbles. He clawed at the water surrounding him, kicking his sore legs and feeling the cold not seeping, but forcing it's way into his bones.

Which way was up?

Had he twisted when he had fallen?

If he swam, what was to say he was swimming up and not down?

Oh, God...

They had made it out of that damn basement, and now he was going to die in a fucking river, a plain as day fucking river.

No.

He wouldn't go down like that.

He was going to die fighting ghosts, or saving his family, or some stranger, anything but this.

Eyes closed, he forced himself to calm down.

Humans were naturally bouyant. If he just calmed down, stopped thrashing, his body would right itself. He would float to the top. Bodies sunk, but then they floated. It was just a matter of staying alive long enough.

He let himself go limp, feeling himself tugged slightly by the gentle current of the river, and when he was certain he was righted, he kicked his legs, wanting to scream in frustration when the weak movement barely propelled him.

His chest was tight, consciously fighting the impulse to take in a breath, knowing he would drown for sure if he let his body convince him to breathe.

Sooner or later, though, he wouldn't be able to fight it, and he would be forced to take in a lungfull of water or air. It was up to him to make sure it was one and not the other.

Scissoring his legs and feeling his strength leaving him, he clawed at the water, propelling himself up more slowly than he would have liked, but it was progress.

He refused to let this watery grave claim him.

He would not leave Sam to deal with those bastards on his own.

_If_ Sam would even leave the place his brother had fallen. Knowing Sam, he would stay until he was too damn frozen to move.

Sure, he had to think of Sam.

Not to mention, oh yeah, he was _drowning._ If that wasn't a motivator, he didn't know what was.

He almost cried out in pain when his fingers jammed into something hard, forcing him down a few inches.

Fuck.

The river was iced over. With the current as slow as it was, he might not have moved much, but he definitely was not going to be in the same place he'd fallen through.

So close, and yet so far.

He opened his eyes, seeing no light shining through the ice, no sign of a way out. Of course, it had to be a cloudy night, no moon, no stars, no nothing to give him any clues.

So close.

He was going to die.

---

"Dean!" Sam shouted, his throat raw from screaming.

He had no idea how much time had passed since his brother disappeared beneath the ice. Know way of knowing if he was alive.

"No, God, no," Sam cried, spread out on the ice, cold seeping in through his clothing.

"Dean!" he tried again, not caring who heard him.

It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair at all.

They had made it this far.

They had escaped, and now this?

To die at the hands of nature?

Sam backed off the ice, slowly, barely feeling his injuries as he stood.

He had no way of knowing how far the current could have taken his brother, but he had to try.

Jogging down the banks, noting how the snow was not as deep on top of the ice, and able to steer clear of the thin ice, he prayed.

Several yards down river, Sam's prayers were answered.

He heard before he saw, the gentle rushing sounds of open water. As he saw the ice had broken up around some old logs and rocks that gathered across the stretch of water, his heart leapt.

And promptly sank as he saw the body, caught by a sleeve, face down, the river pulling at his brother.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, running now, feet sliding in the snow.

He slowed, but did not stop, giving no mind to the sturdiness of the dam of fallen trees. His brother was in the middle of the river, snagged by a branch in some twist of fate, and he was not moving.

Sam's sneakers slipped on the wet logs, as he fell to his knees in some uncoordinated scurry across the wet wood. His fingers were ice as the water splashed his uncovered skin.

He didn't feel it.

He was driven by the fear of his brother lying motionless in the freezing water, and he didn't pause to think as he reached down to pull his brother to him. He turned him over, paralyzed at the sight of his brother's closed eyes and blue lips.

There was no way he could carry him, he realized, cursing, and settled for dragging Dean by the collar of his sweatshirt, to the other side.

Safely on the bank, with no time to think, Sam checked his brother's pulse.

No steady, comforting throb of a vein.

Oh, God.

Placing his ear to Dean's mouth, he searched for a breath.

None.

"Oh, God, Dean," Sam said softly.

Hands trembling, Sam tipped his brother's head back.

Half expecting his brother to snap awake and accuse him of trying to kiss him, Sam breathed twice into his mouth.

Bent over his brother on the banks of the river, he felt his chest, finding the sternum and moving below, placing the heel of his fist in the space between the sternum and his ribs.

"Please," he muttered, pressing down, beginning compressions.

They'd learned CPR at a young age, and had used it before, successfully.

He could only hope it would be enough.

If his brother had been under too long, there would be no saving him. And if he saved him... the brain could only go without oxygen four minutes before death. Less for damage set in.

How long had Dean been under?

He counted fifteen compressions and checked again.

No pulse.

"Damn you, Dean," he said, beginning again.

Counting off compressions, he felt breathless himself, taking in great breaths of air as if it would help his lifeless brother live again.

"Come on," he muttered, pleading with his brother.

Two more breaths.

Blinking back tears with annoyance, he resisted the urge to pound on Dean's chest. Just because it worked in the movies didn't mean it worked in reality. He was frustrated. His brother was not responding. His skin was grey, his lips almost purple, eyes closed, totally motionless.

"No..." the word escaped him, a sob catching in his chest.

Tempted to pound on his brother's chest anyway, not because he thought it would help, but because he was angry, Sam refused to believe his brother would die this way. Maybe a victim of a haunted river, or a... a mermaid attack. Something paranormal.

Dean Winchester would not be brought down by a river.

Except, Dean Winchester was laying on the ground, eyes closes, ice forming on his hair and clothes. His chest didn't rise or fall with breath. His heart did not beat in his chest.

Dean Winchester was dead.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Have I left you hanging long enough? I'm sorry... Impala cookies all around! Without further ado, here's chapter 17. This one's dedicated to all those people who threatened my life...I love it!

---

On the bank of a nameless river, with some elderly psycho killers probably on their way to find him and finish the job they started, Sam mourned the loss of his brother. And realized that he was now truly alone in the world.

And knew he would not accept it.

With renewed vigor, Sam lost no time breathing for his brother, making his heart beat _for_ him if Dean's body would not. He knew he would never stop, he would spend himself, until he literally fell over from exhaustion, before he would admit defeat.

"Breathe, Dean," he pleaded. "Breathe or we're both going to die out here!"

Soft flakes of snow falling around him, Sam Winchester breathed the illusion of life into his brother.

And, finally, his brother responded.

Without notice, as Sam finished the last compression and pinched his nose shut, Dean threw up, a violent explosion of water and bile.

With wide eyes and panic in them, Sam rolled his brother onto his side, letting him cough up the contents of his stomach, which thankfully wasn't much.

When the vomiting stopped, and the sharp gasps of air began, Sam turned his brother back over.

Dean's eyes were still closed, but he was breathing. Gasping, more appropriately.

Sam brushed away the tears that came when Dean opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" he whispered.

"If you don't let me help you now, I swear I'm going to throw your ass back in that water," Sam said menacingly.

"Help me up," was all Dean said, closing his eyes again.

Sam stood, suddenly feeling every ache, suddenly feeling the cold that hadn't bothered him until now.

He swallowed, and helped his brother up, because he had no other choice.

---

Shivering violently, Dean offered no help or resistance as Sam hauled him to his feet. He swayed and almost collapsed again, but Sam quickly wrapped an arm around his waist.

"We gotta get you to town," Sam said, eyes fixed on his brother.

Dean couldn't reply over his chattering teeth.

He was so damn cold, and confused. He had woken up to Sam hovering over him, and the bitter taste of vomit in his mouth. His entire body hurt, and he couldn't remember why at first.

"What happened?" he asked, coughing.

"You fell through the ice," Sam said, almost in disbelief.

"H-how long was I under?" Dean said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"I don't know," Sam asked. "Forever."

Dean glanced at his brother, who seemed shaken.

"I'm okay n-now, S-Sam," he forced out.

"Right," his brother replied with a roll of his eyes.

Without another word, Sam was at his side, wrapping his arm back around his waist and gently nudging him forward.

"Watch out for ice this time," he said.

Funny.

Real funny.

---

Sam tried to ignore the uncontrollable shaking that wracked his brother's body. He could feel the violent tremors, but said nothing, pushing them forward at the fastest pace he though they could manage.

Hypothermia, frostbite... a million worries ran through his mind, the least of which were Betty and Earl. He hadn't paid them mind since his brother disappeared through that opening in the ice.

They would deal with that problem if and when the need arose.

In the meantime, they had more important things to worry about.

Like freezing to death in the backwoods where no one would ever find them. Even this close to a road, the chances that anyone would find them right away... it wasn't good.

But it was okay.

They were alive, they were moving, and -

Without warning, Dean's legs gave out beneath him.

With his brother's weight suddenly forced on him, Sam buckled, and the two of them hit the ground.

Grunting as they hit, Sam managed to shove a hand out and catch himself before he face planted.

Bearing most of Dean's weight, he turned to see what the problem was.

---

Eyes closed, Dean leaned heavily against his brother. He couldn't move. He had tried his hardest, but he could go no further. His body wasn't obeying commands anymore. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to even think about breathing.

"Dean?" he heard his brother ask.

Sleep would be good now.

"Dean!" more insistent.

Why wouldn't Sam let him sleep?

He opened an eye.

Sam was staring at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Get up!"

Sam was on his knees beside him, tugging on his arm.

That hurt.

"Stop," he mumbled, closing his eye.

A not-so-gentle shove startled him, and he opened both eyes this time, seeing Sam staring at him again.

"Dean, come on," he said, more urgently. "We have to go!"

"You come on," Dean muttered. "You go."

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam shouted. "You're sleeping in the middle of the woods in the snow, you're gonna freeze to death!"

Dean looked around, somewhat surprised to see trees surrounding them and flakes of snow falling gently. Where had those come from?

"Sammy?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Why are we in the woods?"

"What?" his brother asked, raising his eyebrows.

Of all the places to be, in the middle of a forest? When had that happened? Last thing he remembered was...being in a forest.

Dean frowned.

"Dean?" Sam asked, more gently this time.

"I'm..." Dean started.

Confused was an understatement.

Cold? No. He was frozen. He felt like he couldn't move.

Thankfully, he had stopped shaking.

---

"Come on, Dean, get up," Sam implored, holding out a hand.

His brother was starting to worry him.

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "No. You go. I'm staying here."

"Dean, this is no time to joke," Sam said, chewing his lower lip.

He swallowed hard, watching his brother's drooping eyelids.

"I'm tired, Sammy," he said. "Just leave me."

Sam's eyes widened. "No way!"

"Go," Dean said again, waving a hand weakly.

"Dean, no," Sam said. "I'm not leaving you."

His brother had to be insane.

"I can't move," Dean said, opening his eyes and looking at his brother with glazed eyes.

"Yes, you can," Sam argued. "You just have to try.

"I don't wanna," Dean said stubbornly, his words slurring. "I can't walk."

"I'll carry you if I have to!" Sam shot back. "I won't leave you!"

Dean blinked.

Sam didn't know much about hypothermia, but he'd seen enough of the few warning signs he did know. Enough to realize his brother was _not_ out of danger. That if he didn't get them help soon, Dean would die.

And...so would he.

It suddenly dawned on him.

Dean had sped up the process by taking that swim, but neither of them had a jacket, or halfway decent clothes for this weather. They were exposed, under dressed, and wet.

Sam would be no help to his brother if he was dead.

"Come on," he said, kneeling.

Dean watched him, squinting.

"Get up!" Sam cried. "Do you want to die here?"

"Do you want to live forever?" Dean mumbled, looking behind him in a way that made Sam think he wasn't addressing his brother.

To be safe, he glanced over his shoulder, but found no one there.

He grabbed Dean by the wrist and pulled him upright.

Dean immediately started to fall back down, but Sam countered the weight, and in a clumsy movement, swung his brother onto his shoulder.

Grunting, Dean's arms banged against Sam's back.

"Sam," Dean whimpered.

"I know," Sam said.

He closed his eyes for a moment, not knowing how he would find the strength to do this.

"I know it hurts, Dean," he continued. "Just hold on."

Planting one foot in front of the other, Sam started to walk.

Knowing it was important for Dean to stay awake, Sam wondered how to keep him awake.

"Hey Dean?"

"Hmm?" the sleepy voice replied.

"Remember that summer?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about it," Sam begged.

At first Dean didn't answer. Then he haltingly told Sam the story of how he'd connived that day at the beach out of their father.

Sam laughed in all the right places, a hollow laugh, too focused on the weight of his brother on his back.

When Dean finished, Sam paused to rest for a moment.

"I still wanted to go to camp" he said. "Stupid, huh?"

When he got no reply, he prodded a bit louder.

"Dean? Stupid, huh?"

Nothing.

He could feel the rise and fall of Dean's chest against his back.

He was alive, but for how much longer?

Making a decision, he stopped and knelt, trying to place his brother on the ground as gently as possible.

Propping Dean against a tree, Sam paused only a few seconds to catch his breath.

At a run, he headed for the road, praying he'd get lucky just once more. Slipping and sliding, he ran up the gentle incline and out of the safety and malice of the forest.

On the snow covered roads, he stood, feeling utterly alone.

"Please, God," he muttered, looking from left to right every few seconds.

_Someone must have been listening, _hethought

The tell-tale twin beams of headlights appeared down the road, steadily growing closer. It was a car, driving slow.

It could be Earl and Betty, looking for them, or a driver being cautious of the conditions.

He would take his chances.

Stepping into the middle of the road, he waved his arms, shouting to draw attention to him

Bathed in the headlights, Sam was easily visible against the white backdrop. The car slowed...

Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he saw the lights mounted on the top of the car.

Pulling to a stop, the door of the car opened, and a middle aged cop stepped out, peering at Sam.

"You're a long way from anywhere, son," the cop said, regarding him with cautious eyes. "You need some help?"


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Oh... to the person who was questioning Sam finding Dean like he did : it was the current of the river. Passed out or not, the current, even slow, would have moved him from where he first fell to a place further downstream. The logs across the river served as a convenient way to get Sam out to him, but also as a break in the ice. The water hitting the logs there was enough to keep it from freezing over. Again, convenient, eh? ;)

---

_Beep..._

_Beep..._

_Fuck._

Something was trying hard to interrupt his sleep.

Something was succeeding.

Torn between a peaceful dreamless sleep, and the burning need to know what was dragging him from that bliss, Dean floated in the black nothingness a moment more.

His brain registering the noises of the world, and thus far unable to register anything else, he was more inclined to give into sleep. But of course, curiosity coupled with his body's instinctual ascent from unconsciousness, he had no choice but to open his eyes.

Slowly, very slowly, he did, wincing against the brightness that threatened to blind him.

Squinting in the sudden light, he could only wait until his eyes adjusted and he could see normally again.

With roving eyes, he spotted the annoyance that had dragged him from sleep; a heart monitor.

A heart monitor...

Which meant a hospital.

Which meant...

"Sam?"

Surprised at how weak and hoarse his voice was, Dean swallowed, realizing how dry his mouth was. And how utterly sore he was. Lying flat on his back was like lying on a bed of fire, and now that he was awake, he was feeling every flame that licked against his skin. His body was aching and throbbing, every inch of him bruised and beaten. His mouth burned and when he opened it to speak he felt his lips crack and the healing skin pull.

Disgusted, he tried to refrain from frowning, disliking the way his wounds threatened to rip again.

Okay, so silence was good for now.

He let his eyes roam his quarters again, past the curtain that blocked off most of the room, and back to the heart monitor. An IV stand behind that caught his eye and he let his eyes trail down the tube to where it was taped to his arm.

Interesting, but it didn't answer any of the questions he had.

For starters, where was he, and how had he gotten there.

And most importantly, where was his brother?

As if someone had finally decided Dean deserved a break, his answer came in the form of the door swinging open.

Dean wanted to shout when he saw Sam, looking a little worse for wear, but alive.

His brother was struggling with the door, pushing it open with his back pressed against the heavy, one hand holding a Styrofoam coffee cup, the other arm encased in a sling.

Dean closed his eyes against tears of relief, but immediately opened them again, unable to tear his eyes away from Sam, living and breathing Sam.

His brother turned around as the door swung shut, his eyes automatically falling on his brother.

First amazement, and then joy crossed his brother's bruised face, and he rushed to Dean's bedside, his coffee cup shoved unceremoniously on the bedside table.

"Dean!" his brother cried, his free hand grasping Dean's.

Normally, Dean would shun this show of affection, but the touch of Sam's warm hand grounded Dean to reality.

"You're awake," Sam said, smiling broadly.

Dean could only nod, any strength he'd had upon waking already gone.

Sam's smile disappeared. "They weren't sure you were gonna wake up."

Dean furrowed his brow.

"You were underwater for a long time," Sam said, sitting down stiffly in a chair that had been sitting at the bedside. "You were unconscious for a few days."

Without hearing it, Dean knew Sam hadn't left his side more than a few minutes at a time during those days.

The poor kid looked exhausted, drawn and so much skinnier than when Dean last saw him. Hell, he probably looked worse, but all that mattered was his brother's pale face, bruises, his arm and that stiff posture. Cracked ribs, no doubt.

As if sensing Dean's need to know what happened, Sam continued, "You weren't breathing when I found you...I thought for sure you were dead. For a while, you were. Good thing Dad taught us CPR, huh?"

His brother's forced laugh made him want to cry.

"I ran to the road," Sam said, looking apologetic. "I didn't really care if Earl was looking for us or not. I'd rather go down fighting than sitting in the woods waiting to freeze to death."

Good boy.

"I got lucky," Sam said, his eyes far away. "I saw a car, and I flagged it down...it was stupid, dumb luck that that cop drove by when he did. He called for help and helped me drag you out of the woods."

At Dean's questioning glance, Sam said, "I told them everything."

Dean squeezed his hand, and Sam looked surprised at that.

He cleared his throat. "They're being tried for attempted murder... and the police are going to dig up every body in that graveyard and get them for every crime they committed."

It was over? Just like that?

It felt too easy, but for now, Dean was content to accept easy.

"I..." Sam trailed off.

At Dean's questioning look, he swallowed, and forced out, "I almost lost you, Dean!"

His eyes softened.

"I almost lost you," Sam repeated. "Don't scare me like that again. Do you really want _me_ behind the wheel of your car? Come on..."

No response.

"You're gonna be okay," Sam continued, sighing. "Hypothermia was the least of your problems, I guess."

Dean tried to smile, and failed horribly.

Licking his lips again, he forced out, "What's a few scars?"

Sam laughed, biting down on his lips. "The chicks dig it, right?"

Dean nodded once.

Scars were only proof that you were alive. Proof that you got through worse. Maps of survival on the skin.

In time, they would fade. Maybe the memories wouldn't, but he wouldn't worry about that.

Not now.

Right now, he had some living to do.

Starting with a vacation.

Yeah, Sam could use a break.

---

Fin.

---

A/N : Okay, I know, the last chapter is short and rather dull. But after all that, to put them through any more bad stuff would just drag out the plot. Trust me, I had a few ideas, like you all thought of making the cop on their side? But ... no. The poor boys have been through enough. A little closure is all we need.

I hope you all enjoyed it, but the ride's come to an end...

sniffles

Ask not for whom the bell tolls...

It tolls for thee...

A/N 2 :

Though, I doooo have a few ideas floating around in my twizzisted noggin!

Anyone want some new stories:P


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